


The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

by Ajayd



Series: A Spider in the Pool [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Dirty Talk, Erotica, Feels, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light BDSM, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5935330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajayd/pseuds/Ajayd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spideypool navigate their relationship, their sex life, and the Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the precursor, consider this your WARNING FOR GRAPHIC SEX.

[Spidey sleeps, like, all the time. Seriously.]

[[Don’t be stupid. We’re the freak that sleeps three hours a night. Or not at all.]]

It was almost nine in the morning, and Deadpool was bored out of his mind. He’d already been awake for hours, in which time he’d watched Spidey sleep, vegged in front of the telly, popped out to the all night McDonalds, sat in front of some more bad telly, and now was back in bed watching Spidey sleep. He really liked that last activity, even if he wasn’t particularly well suited to it in terms of tranquility and patience. Still, he often spent time studying Peter’s features, cuz of his adorable pouty lips, of course, and laughing eyes highlighted by sharp eyebrows, and his thick luscious hair, and all the other reasons that he was so gorgeous and too good for Wade; but also because it was an amazing gift that Wade was allowed to watch his boyfriend sleep at all. People always felt uncomfortable when he looked at them too long, which was usually anything longer than a quarter second, and that was true with or without the mask. Yet perfect Peter had given him permission to gaze his fill, and every time he did, he felt a profound happiness. He felt both cared for and trusted, and both swollen and tender inside from the strength of his own feelings for Spidey. 

Alas, Deadpool was naturally too restless to lie around for long, and even profound happiness usually started getting boring within a quarter hour, twenty minutes tops. Then he would either get up and leave Peter to sleep, or follow Whitey’s inevitable call to masturbate. The rules they had established were relatively simple but had two variants. At under six hours of sleep (for Peter, obviously), Wade could look or touch himself, but should do nothing to wake his companion. At over six hours of sleep, Wade could touch Peter too, as long as (1) it did not involve any penetration, (2) Wade did not wear a mask, because Peter did not want to wake up to that, and (3) Wade was prepared to make waking up early well worth it. 

On this particular morning, Peter was approaching ten hours of sleep. He’d been dead tired when he came home late last night, which Deadpool had picked up on but had been too eager for attention to respect. Instead, Deadpool had kept him up significantly later, possessing and occupying that fine ass until Peter came twice and finally passed out from exhaustion. Even now when Wade studied his face, he still looked a little tired. Which is why Wade had been letting him sleep, but nine plus hours was an awfully long time for him to keep his hands off.

[Someone needs to check that Spidey hasn’t gone into a coma or something.]

[[Don’t be stupid, he’s fine. Rules still apply. If we’re gonna wake him up, we need to make it worth his while.]] 

“Would you believe it if I said I’m not feeling a hundred percent horny right this second?” he murmured quietly to himself. His dick wasn’t even a little hard.

[No.]

[[Yes.]] 

Wade cuddled carefully up to Peter’s naked body, feeling his warmth and power through his civvies, though he’d taken off his mask as required. He propped himself up on his elbow so he could serenade properly, if quietly, “♪♬ I don’t want to close my eyes, I don’t want to fall asleep, cuz I’d miss you, and I don’t want to miss a thing. . . ♪♬”

[Good choice to start, going with the sleeping theme. Plus, if it ties into the plot enough times, it can be, like, “our song” with Spidey!]

Peter’s fingers twitched on his left hand, but that was the only sign of life. So Wade kept going, voice rough, but gentle and in tune, “♪♬ I want to laaay you down in a bed of roses. For toniiight I sleep on a beeed of nails. ♪♬”

[Everyone loves Bon Jovi!]

This time Peter’s head twitched towards the pillow, but then he stilled again, so Wade continued to croon, “♪♬ Once more you open the door, and you’re here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on. . . ♪♬”

[[A little Celine Dion, thank you, to prove we have a pussy.]]

[Fuck you, buddy. I love Celine. You know we love Titanic, you fucking cried at the end, bi-otch! You totally identified with Rose, being the lonely survivor and all.]

[[Of all the things you have to remember, seriously?!]]

While the boxes prattled on in the background, Peter had shown voluntary movement, curling slowly into his pillow and blankets, and moaning quietly. Wade smiled affectionately, and sang with just a tad more passion, “♪♬ Please believe me, every word I say is true. Please forgive me, I can’t stop loving you. ♪♬”

“No,” Peter groaned, voice faint and hoarse with sleep. “Anything but Bryan Adams.”

[Traitor!]

Wade grinned, leaned a little closer, and then belted out epically like he was fucking Whitney Houston, “♪♬ And I-I-I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU! ♪♬”

Peter grabbed him then, unbalancing him so that Wade rolled on top of the other man in a tangle of limbs that magically matched their lips together. Then they made out slowly, with uncharacteristic tenderness, fighting their own smiles. 

“What brought that on?” Peter asked, when Wade pulled back enough to breathe and shifted to the side so that he wasn’t squashing his thinner lover. 

Wade shrugged, but forced himself to maintain the intense eye contact. “I told you I have a whole library of love songs dedicated to you.”

[So now it’s all I this and I that, even though that’s MY music library. How’s the whitewashing going, asshole?]

[[Pretty good actually, so shut it. An outsider might not even realize that we’re still completely batshit.]] 

“Oh yeah?” Peter grinned, and Wade would never get enough of the sight of him so happy, smiling at him! “Gimme a harder one, lemme guess.”

More seriously than before, Wade sung, “♪♬ The Book of Love is long and boring, and written very long ago. It’s full of flowers and heart shaped boxes, and things we’re all too young to know. ♪♬”

[[A little classier, good move.]]

Still grinning, Peter crowed, “Peter Gabriel, suckerrr! Just cuz it’s before my time doesn’t mean I don’t know my classics!”

Wade poked Peter in the ribs, making him squirm a little, but then Peter rolled onto his side so he could press his body purposely into Wade’s. His knee slipped in between Wade’s legs and pressed into his soft dick. “Well, this is unusual,” Peter teased, but with a hint of concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Always. . . It’s just been a long night. But I’m sure Ol’ Reliable could join the party, with a little persuasion.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at those words, then flickered to the clock on the bed stand, before finally falling to the sheets, which were pretty rumbled. “How many times did you jerk off after I fell asleep?”

Wade lowered his eyes, embarrassed, as the number was high even for him, especially considering their late night activities. It’s just that there’d been long bouts of being particularly content, watching Peter sleep peacefully, and it kept returning him to a hazy, pleasant feeling of arousal. “I came four times, but I touched myself more than that.”

[[Where exactly is the line between virile and sick?]]

“You abuse yourself an awful lot, Wade,” Spidey sighed, sounding more teasing than complaining, then he rolled onto his back and reached for his own hard prick. “Next time you better leave something for me.”

[[Good one, Peter!]]

Wade watched avidly, mouth a little agape, as Peter closed his eyes and started stroking himself at a lazy pace. He arched into his own touch and made a little throaty sound, almost surely for Wade’s benefit. “So what were you thinking about that inspired you so much?”

“You,” Wade answered immediately and honestly. “Your expression is so relaxed and peaceful in sleep, it kept reminding me of how it looked last night, all scrunched up in effort and unbearable pleasure. Well. Then one thing led to another.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d you like about last night?” Peter prompted, smile curling on one side of his mouth.

It was difficult for Wade to bring forth that memory while also focused on the magnificent sight of Peter fisting his own perfect cock; but if Peter wanted to hear him talk about it, then who was he to deny him? “You were scorching hot, baby boy, especially when you were pretending to order me to go faster, to fuck you harder and deeper, but really you were begging for it. . . You’re amazingly flexible. Taking you up against the wall like that was a real treat, not many people could’ve pulled that off. Obviously you were holding on, but it kinda felt like you were being held in place by my cock, like I was literally nailing your ass to that wall.”

“Only you could say that and sound sexy,” Peter sassed, eyes cracking open and looking at Wade through his eyelashes as he continued to jack himself. 

Wade met his gaze briefly, but then went back to watching the pink tip of Peter’s penis peek in and out of his grip. “Oh, I dunno. How does your hole feel now? Like a giant metal shaft has been forced through it and then hammered into your body? Like that shaft was then pried out, as though that it hadn’t just split you open to make a space for itself?”

“Oh shit,” Peter muttered, predictable in his choice of bedroom profanity and in his response to Wade’s dirty talk. His fist sped up even as he said, “That’s kinda sick.”

[Honey love, we’re just getting started.] 

“Yeah, well, you’re into some kinda sick shit,” Wade observed casually, eyes traveling appreciatively up Peter’s fit, naked body. “It happens.”

“Like what?” Peter asked, sounding a tad concerned even as he breathlessly stripped his cock.

[[Like cancer-ridden flesh and brain damage; like a face that a mother couldn’t love, and a cock so scarred and pocked it looks like a mace.]]

“Me, for one thing,” Wade offered. 

“Being into you doesn’t, ungh, make me sick,” Peter immediately objected, frowning even, though his attention was clearly torn. “Certifiable maybe.”

Wade leaned close, laying a large, possessive hand on Peter’s thigh and growling roughly in his ear, “It does when you fantasize about being held down and roughly sodomized by a big scary man with huge cock.”

“I don’t. . .,” he trailed off, closing his eyes but still frowning as he fisted himself harder.

Wade leaned back a couple inches to deliver his monologue, “Yes, you do. . . Picture this. You wake up one morning, only to find that I’ve gone nuts and am tying you up. You try to fight, but with your arms bound, I easily flip you onto your stomach and then pin you, pushing your face into the mattress and my cock into the crease of your ass. . . Your movement’s pretty limited, but still you struggle, so I have to use my knees to pin your legs open. . . You beg me to stop: please, Wade, anything but that! Except that you’re hard as a rock, and I know your body wants it bad. That traitorous hole aches to be filled, whatever your objections. . . When I finally force my cock into your helpless body, you’re crying, but you also can’t stop rocking back into it. I only have to fuck into you a few times before you’re cumming all over yourself.” 

[This is totally within the realm of possibility. Spidey would even forgive us if we made it worth his while.]

[[No, shit for brains, he really wouldn’t. Just cuz we forgave Cable that one time does not make that a normal reaction to rape. Of course, you don’t even remember Apocalypse’s alternate reality at all.]]

Peter released a small, whiney sound, and began jacking himself with renewed vigor as he hit the home stretch. Wade leaned in again, his voice growing soft until it was just a whisper in Peter’s ear, “Only getting fucked is like a drug, and now you’re hooked. Even though you hate me and I disgust you, you need your fix, so you keep coming back for more. You let me do all sorts of sick, twisted things to you, to your shameless, wanting body, as long as your hole gets the good pounding it craves.” 

“Fuuuck!” Peter choked, ropes of white cum shooting up his abs. 

[Damn, he just keeps getting hotter! Mine, mine, MINE!]

Wade chuckled at him, even as his own cock finally stirred at the pornographic display he’d just witnessed. As Peter lay cum-happy and sated on the bed, eyes still closed, Wade propped back up on his elbow and continued conversationally, “Case in point. You definitely get off on the idea of being dominated. . . You’re a classic case, really. You have all these responsibilities all the time, and you’re always trying to do the right thing, which is great, but kinda stressful and tiring. So you can’t help but get hard at the idea of someone taking that choice away from you; of someone forcing you to do something naughty and shameful, maybe something you’ve always wanted to do.”

[[Might wanna reconsider your delivery, brah!]]

“Like getting bent over and fucked from behind like an animal.”

[[Aaand: thank you, Freud. . . We’ve probably just given poor Petey a permanent complex about his fantasies of being pinned and penetrated. Good luck getting a starring role now.]]

Caught up in the brilliance of his argument and presentation, Wade hadn’t spared much thought for Peter’s reaction; but now that Yellow was pointing out the potential consequences, it occurred to him that Peter’s reticence could indicate degree of denial. Indeed, Peter had opened his eyes at Wade’s crude last words, no longer content but instead staring at the ceiling with a worried, distressed expression. After a long minute of silence, he admitted with a heavy, defeated voice, “It’s like you know me better than I know myself. . . Everything you just said is spot on, and I didn’t even realize. . . I don’t even know how I feel about all that. How can I respect and value consent and still want that? What’s wrong with me?”

[[Just great, about as therapeutic as a bludgeon. This is what we get when we call our boyfriend sick and then proceed to prove it. Poor Peter gets the classic Deadpool treatment once again.]]

When he didn’t continue, Wade tried to console, “Hey, it’s okay. . . So you’re a little twisted, it happens. So are lots of people, it’s not even a crime these days. Plus, you’re in luck, I’m twisted too, and together we can twist around each other, baby boy.”

Peter lay frowning at the ceiling for so long that Wade was considering getting up or going with a non sequitur, but then Peter did ask timidly, “Would you want. . . to do something like that to me? Someday, I mean.”

[Hell yes! Think of all the things we could do to Spidey, tied up and at our mercy! Nipple clams, a cock ring, a huge dildo shoved up his rear while we fuck his face! We could get strangers off the street to gang bang his sweet hole while we jack off on his chest! The dirty slut would love every minute of it!]

[[Just shut up, Whitey. You think we want that, but we’d have to kill ourselves a million times if we ever hurt Peter. . . And I know we both have serious doubts about our willingness to share.]]

Wade was a little surprised at the question, though certainly not by the topic generally. He’d picked up on Peter’s inclinations pretty early on, though he’d assumed (with good reason) that Peter would never trust him enough to act on such a kink. Wade wasn’t sure he even trusted himself to do “something like that” to Peter, the last person in the world he wanted to mistreat or whose trust he wanted to violate. He reached out to lay a hand on Peter’s bare shoulder, trying to reestablish his connection to the perturbed young man. “Want to? Not really. But I can, if you want to. And you know me, if you’re getting off on it, I totally will too. . . Come talk to me about what you want after you’ve thought about it a bit.”

Peter rolled over suddenly and curled into Wade’s larger body, gripping his sweatshirt and burying his face between Wade’s pecs. Wade’s body absorbed and muffled his melodramatic wail, “Oh God, Hozier was right, I really am sick!”

[♪♬ But I love it . . . Command me to be well! ♪♬]

Wade petted the thick, dark hair for a moment, but he had no further assurances to offer. . . well, except one. It was still difficult to say such things earnestly, it always felt like Wade was risking an ego-shattering rejection, no matter how many times his declaration was accepted and returned. For Peter though, he forced his lips to quietly part with the words, “I love you, Peter, just as you are. . . If you were completely vanilla, you wouldn’t be into me at all. I know that, even if you don’t. So I’m grateful every day for whatever kinks let you be with me. . . Just as I’m grateful to you, for however long you stay, for saving me from being a lonely, friendless pervert for the rest of my way too-long life.” 

Peter reached around Wade’s waist to hold him close and tight for a long moment. When he spoke, he turned his head just enough to be heard clearly, “I love you too. . . Thanks for letting me be the crazy one for once.”

Wade kissed Peter on the top of the head. “Any time. A little sexual identity crisis is pretty tame by my standards.”

Peter grunted in amused acknowledgement. After a pause he continued, sounding better but still regretful, “That was a sweet way to wake me up too. . . How’d we even get from love songs to rape fantasies so quickly?” 

[[That would be us, refusing as always to leave well enough alone.]]

Wade was not at all bothered by the contrast or the emotional rollercoaster. “We’re sweet and sour sauce, babe, the best of both worlds.”

When they finally got up, Peter eyed the rumpled sheets. “I think my first purchase for this place is gonna be a washer and dryer. Once I save up enough.”

! ^_^ !

The following week, Deadpool accepted another SHIELD mission and left for his homeland of Canada. Not two days later, he was sitting in a procured apartment, supposedly staking out the complex across the street, but mostly vegging out on bad telly. Only the Supernatural rerun was most rudely interrupted by a news broadcast of yet another flashy invasion of Manhattan. Wade followed the story closely as various Avengers, including Spiderman, showed up to beat the latest robot army back. He knew that Spidey could handle himself, but he didn’t like not being available just in case. Deadpool didn’t usually patrol with Spiderman (which they’d agreed required a little more finesse than Pool was typically capable of), but he’d definitely gotten comfortable serving as backup in more dangerous situations.

Pool watched the action avidly until he saw Spidey swing in and rescue Hawkeye, only to get shot out of the sky a moment later.

[SPIDEY!] [[PETER!]]

CNN didn’t have any immediate follow up footage, and Pool was already flipping his shit too much to wait around. He overturned the chair he’d been sitting on and bolted from the room, knocking over the SHIELD liaison-slash-babysitter who tried to stand in his way. It felt like he was in typical video game mode, except that it was all stress and no fun. His body knew what to do without ever consulting his brain or formulating a plan, so that he was instinctively sprinting across the road to the complex under surveillance, his AK-47 in one hand and a new Desert Eagle in the other. He barely slowed at the gates, immediately blowing away the guards and letting himself through, hardly registering the bullets lodging in his own body. He proceeded immediately to the helipad, mowing down any and everyone in his way. So much for the original mission to capture the facility with a minimum of violence, SHIELD never contracted him unless widespread death and destruction was the backup plan anyway. 

Highjacking the helicopter was a little trickier, and he cursed his own stupidity several times before he got the thing in the air. He’d trained on helicopters in the army, but that was years ago and this was a newer model with a lot more screens and software. Still, he managed a wobbly takeoff, almost crashing into a building as he turned to throw his grenade belt out the open door. Then the helicopter was careening south, barely escaping the massive explosion that followed in his wake. 

[Classic Deadpool exit! Now let’s go save the girl!]

Even at top speed, the trip to NYC was over three hours, and Deadpool had to repeatedly talk himself out of crash landing at an airport and attempting to steal a jet. Firstly, Yellow reiterated, it was unlikely that he’d even be able to get a commercial jet into the air; and secondly, he’d probably die in any attempt to highjack a military jet, which would only delay his return further. Whitey countered with, [“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a little bit.” – The Princess Bride]. So Deadpool forced himself to accept the limitations of the helicopter, which at least had the advantage of being equipped with some nifty stealth tech that kept the authorities off his ass. 

The flight gave him way too much time to think, to process, and it had Deadpool slipping out of his altered state and beginning to fret and worry and fear. To keep himself focused, he spent most of the flight scanning the airwaves for relevant chatter, but he heard nothing more regarding Spiderman. As he neared the City, word got out that the robots had been remotely shut down, and then Deadpool had to reconsider his destination. Where would an injured Spiderman be taken? He refused to consider any other possibility; though he lived in terror of the day that a real villain would permanently unalive Spidey, it wasn’t a job for some weak-ass robot minion!

Deadpool set the radio to transmit on all frequencies and issued his warning, “Iron Man! I’m in a stolen chopper approaching Stark Tower, ETA ten minutes! I suggest you clear the way!”

A couple seconds later, Stark responded urgently, “Deadpool? Negative! You’re not cleared to land! Turn back!” 

“Fuck you! I’m coming in hot and I’m landing even if I have to crash into the side of your fucking building! Consider yourself warned. Deadpool out.” Then he turned off the radio, agitated and fuming. According to Peter, the Avengers knew about their relationship, so that rat bastard knew why he was coming in! 

Still, as he passed over New York City, it became clear that Stark had warned off the authorities. Both a National Guard and CNN chopper tailed him, but did not engage, and as he neared the Tower, he saw Iron Man fly in ahead of him. 

[[Good. Convincing Stark to let us see Peter is bound to be less violent that forcing our way in without permission.]]

Combining impatience, poor flying skills, and a bad attitude towards Stark, Deadpool rammed the chopper down on the Tower’s landing pad, crumpling the landing gear and cracking the concrete. Then he leaped out of the stolen vehicle to confront Iron Man, whose faceplate was raised and was clearly pissed. 

“This is exactly why no one wants you around, Deadpool! We’re in the middle of a crisis, and instead of helping, I’m here dealing with your histrionics!”

Deadpool strode right up to him, taller and not at all afraid to yell right in his face, “Fuck off, Stark! Let me see Spidey and you can go back to your emergency clean up!”

Stark had never been a shrinking violet, and was more than willing to scream right back in Deadpool’s face, “Hell no! Spiderman doesn’t want to see you, and even if he did, I wouldn’t let you in until he was capable of fending you off!” 

The words stung, but Pool was pretty sure they reflected Stark’s position more than his boyfriend’s. Still, he didn’t actually want to start something with the Avengers; they might not be able to permanently kill him, but they could certainly manage a temporary death or three; or worse, imprison him indefinitely in the Negative Zone. Behind Stark, Deadpool could see Hawkeye limp out onto the roof, bow in his hand and heading their way. Deadpool folded his arms across his chest, intentionally keeping his hands away from his thigh holsters. “I’m not leaving unless I get to see Spiderman.”

Hawkeye stopped just a couple feet behind and to the left of Iron Man, narrowed eyes focused on Deadpool, but he didn’t say anything as Stark continued to froth, spit actually flying from his mouth a little. “You sound like a child! Can you think about someone besides yourself for a moment? Spiderman has been shot. He doesn’t have time indulge your bullshit right now! Come back in a couple days, though never would be better!"

[[We are kinda high maintenance, what with being clingy and crazy. Perhaps he does need a little break. . .]]

[Don’t be weak! He didn’t leave us to recover at the mercy of these assholes, he should be at home with us!]

“Dream on, Iron Douche. The only way I’m leaving is if Spidey tells me to.”

Stark glared daggers at him, while Hawkeye looked like he was trying not to laugh. The billionaire blabbermouth changed tactics then, voice flat-lining as he threatened, “We can escort you to a secure cell to wait, if you prefer.”

Deadpool was well accustomed to being denied, rejected, and threatened, including by people who were supposed to be better than their instinctive hostility towards him seemed to suggest. He had many years of bad experiences to toughen his skin until it was as thick as the leather he frequently wore, and he’d mostly trained himself not to care for the acceptance or assistance of others. Except that he’d never been in this situation before, where the opinion of one asshole was keeping him away from the most important person in his life. It felt like he was on the cusp of utter and total defeat.

Deadpool sunk dramatically down to his knees and offered his wrists up to Stark. “Then you better secure me good, cuz I’ll literally rip off my own leg and use my fucking femur to help me get to Spidey. That is how much I love him, and I won’t leave him.”

[Now that is a love declaration! Does Stark have any idea how much it hurts to chew and claw off your own limb?!]

Stark was downright flabbergasted, though Hawkeye showed some surprise too, before finding his tongue, “Come on, Tony. It can’t hurt to let him visit for a minute. I’ll take him down, and keep an eye on him. If Spiderman wants him to leave, he’ll go quietly. Right?”

Deadpool nodded vigorously, unwilling to open his fat mouth now that, miracle of miracles, he seemed to have an ally. Stark sighed in annoyance, then flipped his face mask down. “Fine, as long as you take care of any messes that Spiderman’s pet leaves behind. I’ve gotta get to the Baxter Building to problem solve this robot situation.” 

[Grrr. . . BARK! BARK!]

Then he launched off the Tower and flew away, leaving Deadpool to climb cautiously to his feet. He’d actually teamed up with Hawkeye once before, though they’d spent more time harassing and competing with each other than actually stopping the bad guys. It had been fun though, from Deadpool’s pee oh vee, but then he did enjoy lethal losers with low self-esteem, and didn’t mind the occasional arrow lodged in his person. Still, Hawkeye was now all that stood between him and the single most important person in his life, and that was both a powerful and dangerous position to be in. Deadpool offered up an olive branch with the fairly neutral, “So, long time no see. . . how’s the beautiful yet deadly Hawkette?”

“Kate’s good,” Barton replied, turning to limp towards the door. “Come on, lover boy, I’ll take you to his room.”

[[Thank fuck.]]

Deadpool followed obediently like a good dog and they walked in tense silence until they got into the elevator. Then Barton leaned against the elevator wall to study the masked man. “Stark really hates your guts, you know, thinks you’re ruining his protégé. He won’t even say your name, just calls you Spiderman’s “bit of rough”.” 

[I bet Spidey’d like that one: Spidey picks us up on the wrong side of the tracks, but gets more than he bargains for. We bend him over the hood of a car, pull down his pants just enough and fuck into him right out in the open, hard and fast and dirty. After he cums untouched, we slap his ass and tell him to come back when he wants more.]

Deadpool shrugged, impatient but less agitated now that he was so close; a painful but irresistible hope was gnawing at his chest. “I’ve been called worse, and he’s not wrong.”

Barton was silent for a beat, then continued, “I’ve seen you with your daughter, you’re not all that bad. And Spiderman’s got a good head on his shoulders, I’m inclined to trust his judgment. It’s none of my business what others get up to in the bedroom.”

Deadpool met his eyes through the mask, only to reply flippantly, “Well thank you for being the voice of reason. I bet you don’t hear that all too often.”

Barton smirked. “No.”

The elevator opened to the same floor where Deadpool had regenerated a few months ago, and the former mercenary had to restrain himself from bolting out and yelling Spidey’s name up and down the corridor. Instead, he anxiously let Barton lead the way past several closed doors before stopping in front of one. “Go easy on him. He’s gonna be fine, but he punctured a lung and lost a lot of blood. . . JARVIS, is our guest awake?”

“Yes, sirs,” came the disembodied voice of the AI. “In fact, he has stubbornly refused to sleep. I believe he would appreciate a certain visitor.”

[We’re almost there, Spidey! Just hold it together for a moment longer!]

Under JARVIS’ control, the door slid open and Deadpool eagerly stepped in, followed by Hawkeye. In the room lay Spiderman, hood still on despite a missing shirt and a heavy bandage wrapped around his right shoulder and ribs. He turned to them as they entered, and Deadpool could make out the wide smile under the mask.

[[Peter!]]

“Pool,” Spidey gritted out hoarsely, reaching out his hand, and that was all it took for the stiff, dangerous mercenary to literally crumble. He half dashed half fell to his knees before Peter, grabbing the proffered fingers and bringing them to his forehead, his cheeks, his thickly covered lips. Stark was right, he was basically Peter’s pet. Like a dog, he belonged on the floor, always a step below Peter. 

[Like in The King And I? Oh, King Spidey, I prostrate myself before you!]

“Spidey, you’re alive!,” Pool wailed pathetically, almost comically loud and whiny. He’d failed. He’d vowed to himself to use his cursed body to protect his lover, to take every bullet, blow, or stab. Obviously Spiderman didn’t need or want anyone to fight his battles for him, but Deadpool could still be his guard dog, his body armor, his last line of defense. And yet he’d failed. He let go of Spidey’s forgiving hand with a whimper and bowed his head lower. 

“Dude,” Barton scolded with obvious irritation. “This is not what I meant by go easy on him!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING GRAPHIC KINKY SEX

“It’s okay, I’m okay, everything’s okay,” Spidey rasped, trying to assure all three men in the room. It was a bad angle, but he managed to awkwardly pat the decompensating Deadpool on the cheek. “Get up here.”

Pool nuzzled his hand, but didn’t rise until Spidey grabbed the top of his hood and gently pulled the distraught man up to the bed, then weakly guided Pool’s face into the crook of his neck. Barton was watching them, looking wide eyed and weirded out. “Thank you for bringing him to me, we’re good now.”

“Sure thing,” Barton said, beating a hasty retreat. 

Once he was gone, Peter lightly bumped skulls with Wade. “Hey. I’m fine, but I need you to be strong for me right now.”

Deadpool immediately sat up, nodding. “I can do that.”

He was unnaturally silent and still, head bowed, and Spidey realized that being strong wasn’t enough to get past whatever this was. “Talk to me, Pool.” 

After a heavy paused, Pool confessed miserably, “I wasn’t there. The one time you needed someone to take the hit for you, and I wasn’t there. . .” And then more quietly, almost a whisper, “I can’t lose you, Spidey, I just can’t. From the inimitable vocals of Mariah Carey: I can’t live, if living is without you. . . Except I’d have to, and that would completely destroy me.”

“I know, love,” Peter empathized softly, placing his hand on a red leather thigh. Peter felt like crap, he was tired and weak, it hurt to breathe, and his shoulder was killing him; and yet he could understand that in some ways, Wade felt worse. Ironically, this time Peter’s wounds would be the ones to heal, while Wade’s never would – not unless the man someday came to peace with his immortality, and with himself. Peter held out hope, but realized that the former merc had a long way to go. Until then, he had some very serious concerns about how the other man would react to his death. “I’m afraid of that too.”

After a long moment of grief, Deadpool clearly tried to shift gears and move the rollercoaster along. Despite having stormed into the recovery room and selfishly had a meltdown, he now made an effort at genuine consideration. He removed his gloves, joining one hand with Spidey’s and using the other to gently stroke down the spandex covered cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Awful,” Peter confessed. “Honestly, I’m exhausted.”

“You should sleep,” Pool assured. “I’ll watch you. Uh. . . I mean, watch over you.”

Peter smiled faintly. Now that Pool was here, the tight coil in his body seem to unwind and he felt safer and more relaxed. Everything was going to be okay, for now at least. “Thanks.”

! ^_^ !

Peter woke up many hours later when Stark’s doctor came in to check his bandages. He felt a million times better, and both the doctor and Deadpool were impressed with his relatively fast healing – compared to a normal person, of course, not his lover. Unfortunately, certain people felt that this was an appropriate time to come “visit”. As the doctor left, Cap, Stark, and then Barton filed in. Next to Spidey, Deadpool sat straighter and grew more tense with each additional face.

“I see the Spanish Inquisition has arrived,” Deadpool announced. “Burnt any witches lately?”

“And I see that the pet demon is still here,” Stark sneered immediately. “Humped any legs recently?” 

“Hey!” Peter snapped, feeling a headache coming on. He knew better than anyone how infuriating Deadpool could be, but Peter had put up with enough disrespect towards him, more than he should have considering his distaste for bullies. He really wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s bad behavior.

“Let’s try to keep this civil,” Cap mediated. “We’re just here to check on Spiderman’s health.”

“I’m doing a lot better, thanks,” Spidey said, trying not to sound as pissy as he felt. “The doc okayed me to finish recuperating at home.”

“I’ll have a car take you home when you’re ready,” Stark directed immediately. “And schedule a sexy nurse to come by as often as you need.”

“He’s got all the sexy nurse he needs,” Deadpool objected with obvious attitude. “And he’ll be coming home with me, fuck you very much.”

“I’m sure he would be more comfortable at his place,” Cap argued reasonably, probably trying to play peacekeeper.

“Enough, guys,” Spidey barked irritably, though it aggravated his chest wound. “I’ll be going home with Pool, cuz I live with him. And he’s right, he’s the only nurse I need.”

Rogers and Stark both stared at Spiderman with varying expressions of concern and alarm on their faces. Barton clapped his hands together once, loudly, and concluded baldly, “Sounds like they’re all set here. How bout we go upstairs and play Call of Duty?” 

“I love Call of Duty,” Deadpool inserted quickly. “We should remote game some time.”

“Sure.”

“No, no, no! This trigger-happy imbecile is absolutely not making friends with us!” Stark demanded, beginning to sound like an overgrown kid throwing a temper tantrum. “Not even friendly acquaintances!”

Deadpool folded his arms across his chest with a slight twitch, but he didn’t say anything, and that’s how Peter knew that Stark had finally managed to hurt his feelings. Suddenly feeling crappy was the perfect fuel for his own anger and Spidey snapped, “Stop attacking him! How’s he supposed to act when you all constantly force him into the role of villain?! How’s he supposed to feel about himself when everyone’s always telling him what an unwanted idiot he is?”

“Yeah, bitches. If you prick me, do I not bleed?” Deadpool added obnoxiously, and Spidey had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the misquoted Shakespeare. God forbid the older man ever facilitated a social situation. 

“We’re just looking out for –” Cap tried to say, but Spidey wasn’t done.

“I don’t care if he rubs you the wrong way, he still deserves to be treated with a modicum of respect. He’s not an idiot, he’s not a villain, and he’s definitely not unwanted. Or haven’t you gotten that message yet?” He reached out with his good arm and took Pool’s bare hand in his, stating with as much exaggerated sugary saccharine sweetness as human possible, “We’re in love.”

Deadpool turned to him with a bazillion gigawatt smile that was visible even through the leather mask, though Spidey still wished he could see it. Meanwhile, Stark pretended to stick his finger down his throat, and Cap was obviously uncomfortable with something, but Barton was grinning and clapping lightly with his fingers. “Congratulations! It’s so rare for two people to find compatible weirdness these days!”

Almost everyone had to blink at Barton, then Stark turned to leave with a resigned, “I’m done here, this is hopeless. Spidey can learn by being stabbed in the back, and through the heart, just like the rest of us.”

Barton winked at Spidey before turning to follow the billionaire out. “I dunno, Tony. I’ll bet you a frosted pop tart that these crazy kids make it. Fate adores the really wacky pair ups.”

So then it was just Captain America and Spideypool, considering each other seriously. Finally Cap ventured, “You’re right that we’ve been disrespectful, particularly Iron Man, but I have been complicit in his behavior. Whatever concerns I have do not justify my actions or words. Despite your youth, you are an adult, and entitled to make your own decisions. . . I owe you both an apology.”

Then he held out his hand to Spiderman, who shook it with relief. “Thank you.” 

Deadpool probably would’ve left it at that, except that Cap turned to him and held out his hand again. For a beat he seemed not to understand what was expected of him, before twitching slightly and finally taking the proffered hand and shaking it quickly. “You’re, like, my second favorite superhero of all time, after Spidey here. . . And I’m me, so I get the problems you have with me being around Spidey.” His words were speeding up nervously and Peter was a little worried at what would come next. “So just let me assure you that Spidey knows how damaged I am, he knows that he needs to be the responsible one. He has more influence over me than I do over him.” 

Peter wasn’t so sure about the last bit, but Cap nodded and appeared to appreciate the words. Of course, he wouldn’t have been Deadpool if he didn’t push his luck by continuing theatrically after a strategic pause, “Though it wouldn’t hurt you to remember what the late great Doctor Seuss wrote, ‘I know up on top, you’re seeing great sites. But down here at the bottom, we too should have rights.’”

To Spidey’s surprise, Cap flashed a genuine smile. “Hey, I actually know that one! I’ve been doing library readings for the kids.” Then he dared crack a joke, stage whispering, “Have you heard that Yertle the Turtle is actually socialist propaganda?” 

Deadpool shrugged dramatically. “Enh. I’m Canadian. I’m down with equality and healthcare for all.”

Cap sobered a little at that. “Yeah, those things were more popular in my day as well. . . Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he directed to Spidey. Then to Deadpool, “Maybe the two of you can join us next time the team does something together? I’ll work on the others, especially Tony. We didn’t much like each other when we first met either. He can be difficult, but he’s still a good guy.”

“If you say so,” Pool agreed, though his skepticism was apparent. 

Cap took his leave then, and Spidey immediately turned to his boyfriend. “Can you hand me those clothes? I can’t get outta here fast enough.”

! ^_^ !

It took less than forty eight hours for Peter to be completely bored out of his mind. He was attempting to follow the doctor’s orders by staying home and resting, but he was much more the type to keep busy. He’d had his teachers email his upcoming assignments to him, but without a million other things to do, he’d finished them all pretty quickly. Unlike Wade, bad TV didn’t occupy him for very long, and Wade ended up blowing him on the couch three separate times. As much as Peter enjoyed having his dick sucked slow and wet and, damn, Wade could go forever, by the end of the second day he was also bored and frustrated by his boyfriend’s gentle/guilty consideration. If he was gonna be stuck at home for days, he wanted to fuck, but the closest he got to Ol’ Reliable was when Wade jacked himself while deep-throating Peter. 

So when Deadpool stepped out to buy some groceries (which was something he did now, on occasion), leaving Peter to wander aimlessly around the apartment with his left arm in a sling, it didn’t take very long for his eyes and thoughts to fall on the unopened boxes in Wade’s room. He didn’t feel bad at all about nosing through Wade’s limited belongings, as the former merc had a seriously underdeveloped sense of personal boundaries, and had been upfront about having rifled through everything Peter owned. 

The first two boxes were chock full of guns, mostly hand guns and semi-automatics, but also rifles and shotguns, none two the same. It looked like a collection, though a real collector surely would’ve stored them with more care. Maybe, after his shoulder healed, he should have Pool take him shooting. He would never use one as a weapon, but he liked the idea of Pool pressed up against his back, arms wrapped around him as he showed Peter him how to hold and aim his gun. It wasn’t like they had a lot of date options anyway, between Wade’s unique interests, behaviors, and attire. There were only so many times they could give each other hand jobs in the back of a movie theater before even that thrill wore off. 

Peter was aware of another box in Wade’s closet, so he headed there next. It was smaller and lighter, so he brought it out to the bed to open, and that was when he hit the jackpot. Inside this box was a variety of sex toys, most of which Peter could identify, but not all. There was two different cock rings, nipple clamps, a couple deflated sex dolls (one of which appeared to be wearing red and blue spandex), several dildos and vibrators of different sizes and shapes and textures, something that could only be a functional mold of a vagina, two slutty dresses (one of which Peter recognized), and a ball gag with bite marks that Peter would be pitching in the garbage later today. While he couldn’t vouch for the unidentified items, it didn’t escape his notice that these were all toys that could be used solo. There were no restraints or blindfolds; no paddles or floggers; no wax or feathers. Peter was torn between arousal and heartache as he imagined Wade trying to use these toys to satisfy his gluttonous sexual appetite during his many years alone. 

This was how Pool found him when he came back from shopping, sitting on their bed with an erection and surrounded by sex toys, including one inflated sex doll obviously dressed as Spiderman. Deadpool leaned against the doorframe, wearing the soft mask and street clothes that had become his norm at home, then mocked good naturedly, “What? Couldn’t wait til I got home?”

Peter couldn’t say he felt too embarrassed, considering whom all this shit belonged to. He flung the sex doll at Pool with his good arm, though he couldn’t help laughing a little. “What the hell is this? As if I need to ask.”

Pool’s own grin was audible. “That’s boyfriend number 2. He’s not afraid to do what you won’t do. ♪♬ Cuz second place has always got a lot to prooove. ♪♬”

Peter didn’t recognize the song, but he had to chuckle a little. “Yeah, right! As if there’s anything I haven’t let you do.” Then he held up this strange steel toy that looked vaguely shaped for some sort of penetration. “And this surgical-looking thing?”

“Butt plug. Which I’d love to use on you some time,” Pool answered, voice suddenly deep and gravelly, and it went straight to Peter’s dick. 

He lightly palmed himself so Pool could see what he thought of that idea, and asked strategically, “Remember the conversation the other day about, uh, my fantasies?”

Wade stalked closer and then threw himself front first on the bed, apparently not caring that he landed rather heavily on a couple items. “Yeees.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then, about what I want.” Though they hadn’t talked about it any further. The revelation had initially troubled Peter, but days of mental gymnastics wore that down. He wasn’t actually into pain, he reasoned, or hurting anyone; like Wade had said, he wanted someone to take the choice away from him. It was really the thought of Wade taking liberties with him made him rock hard. And now with all these unexplored sex toys suddenly at his disposal, the pieces slotted easily into place. “I don’t want to fight you, maybe just struggle a little. What I really want. . . is for you to restrain me, so I can’t do anything but let you perv me with all this kinky shit.”

“Perv you?,” Wade repeated, propped up on his elbows and waggling his eyebrows at Peter, making the whole mask move comically.

“You know. Do your perverted thing, I don’t even care what. I’m horny just thinking about you doing whatever you want to me.”

Pool chuckled, sounding a little relieved, “I can do that.”

“Now?” Peter asked hopefully, hearing his voice hit a whiny octave at the end.

Pool guffawed, obnoxiously loud and mocking. “In your dreams! Not while you’re still recovering.”

Peter glared at his asshole boyfriend. “Fine, you jerk. Any brilliant ideas for the meantime?”

There was a beat of silence, then a snotty, knowing tease, “I could blow you again?”

Peter continued to glare at him. “How bout I use a couple of these toys on you?” he menaced, frustrated and amused and still turned on. “I’ve got a strong right arm. If you help out, it shouldn’t be too much of a strain. I’m mostly healed anyway.”

Pool looked around at his stuff. “Which ones do you want to perv on me?”

“It’s only pervy when you do it,” Peter responded, still feisty from being cooped up for days and now teased and provoked. He reached for the scariest thing in the box – a truly massive dark red rubber cock. It reminded him of a fire hydrant and there was no way it would fit inside of a person. “I want to see you take this ridiculous thing.”

Pool cocked his head to the side, the way he did sometimes when he was listening to the boxes. Peter wanted to ask, knowing that Whitey often whispered sexual fantasies; but he also knew Wade was trying to talk to them less, working as he was on being saner, and that not validating their words was part of that. When Pool answered a moment later, he was completely serious, “That one takes a bit of work, if you’re gonna stick to your readiness guns.”

“You’ve actually used this?” Peter asked skeptically, looking at the dildo. It was probably twelve inches long, and maybe seven inches in circumference at the base. 

“Sure. I can handle it. There was a while after. . . when it was my favorite.” Pool wasn’t generally one for ruminating, but there was a hint of wistfulness and regret that always came over him when he talked about Cable. For the first time, Peter felt a stab of jealousy along with the usual anger towards a man who had clearly treated Deadpool poorly. Peter had said repeatedly that the sex they had together was the best of his life, but Wade had never returned the sentiment. Surely Peter could do better than some abusive douche canoe with delusions of godhood, right? The fire hydrant had been mostly a joke, and then suddenly it wasn’t. 

“Then I’ll make sure you’re ready,” Peter solemnly vowed, before leaning in close and lowering his voice further. “But you’re going to have to do EXACTLY what I say. I’m injured, you know, and mustn’t strain myself.”

Pool rolled over then, and sorta stretched, like a Big Cat displaying his underbelly – and his large, erect cock, clearly visible through Pool’s black sweats. His voice was even deeper, and even sexier, as he rasped, “Anything you say, Spidey.”

Sitting cross legged next to him, Peter reached out with his right hand to caress the band of skin where the red Henley had ridden up. Pool tensed automatically, but then relaxed into the touch, and Peter liked how much more comfortable Wade had gotten with him over their few months together. Then Peter’s hand dipped down quickly, grabbing Wade by the thick base of his cock, so that he arched up into the possessive hold. Peter jacked him a few times, tight and slow, before he ordered, “Strip.”

Pool complied immediately, though his combat boots took a minute before everything else slid off quickly, mask included. Peter had used the time to knock most of the toys to the floor, except for the fire hydrant and lube, then he took off his own pajama pants. Pool was there in an instant to help him remove his flannel shirt, trailing blunt fingers over the bandages of his chest, then slowly down the grove between his pecs and abs to his happy trail. 

“This time I’m trusting you not to hurt yourself,” Wade murmured meaningfully. 

Peter shuttered in arousal and anticipation and pushed Wade towards the bed with his good arm. “I won’t. . . Now on your knees, chest on the mattress. You’re gonna have to hold yourself open for me, soldier.” 

“Yes, sir!”

Even after all the wild sex they’d had, the embarrassment would’ve made such directions a challenge for Peter, but Wade didn’t waste a second climbing onto the bed, shuffling over on his knees, then lowering his head and chest all the way down, so that his powerful haunches and muscular ass were high in the air. Then his chest and shoulders took his weight, face smashed into the bedding, as his arms came around to pull apart his ass cheeks. 

“Hell yeah.” Peter’s dick pulsed, still bewitched by that tight, vulnerable entrance and drunk on Wade’s shameless display. He grabbed the large bottle of lube that lived in their bed, then used his injured arm to squirt a generous amount into his right hand. Getting up on his own knees behind Wade, he smeared the glob directly on his boyfriend’s hole, rubbing his fingers through the mess to lube them up, bumping and brushing against the twitching muscle. Then, without much more preamble, he pushed two fingers right into Wade. It had been almost a week since Peter had last fucked into that strong grip, but he was still easily accommodated, with a little grunt of satisfaction. 

“Just look how good you take it,” Peter praised, before stepping up his game. The one thing he learned about dirty talk was that if wasn’t making him at least a little uncomfortable, then it probably wasn’t dirty enough to titillate. “Shit, Wade, you’re so well broken in.” 

Not broken, broken in: like a wild horse is broken, house broken, broken just enough to fix right. Wade hummed happily and rutted back on the intrusion, prompting Peter to begin pistoning his slick fingers in and out. He added a third finger after a couple minutes, in and out and in and out, and then he watched the digits tripod to spread open Wade’s hole. In the afternoon light, Peter could see a hint of that smooth inner channel, and he was a little shocked by his own depraved impulse to lick inside. He continuously surprised himself with the depths of his own thirst for anal sex. He wasn’t sure about Wade’s claims that he’d never be satisfied being fucked by a smaller cock, but he was certain now that he could never be satisfied with just fucking pussy. 

Peter pushed back into the yielding flesh and rooted around for Wade’s sensitive bulb. Wade cried out roughly as he prodded it, which he did firmly and repeatedly; then he pulled out and screwed back in with four fingers, rubbing and rubbing until Wade was whimpering and his thighs trembled. The distended muscle was wrapped so tight around Peter’s collapsed hand, surely it couldn’t stretch any more? And yet it would have to if it was going to accommodate the massive fake cock that Peter was going to stick up there. “Are you ready, babe? Or should I try to squeeze my thumb in there too?” 

Wade moaned loudly, then he panted semi-coherently into the mattress. “Fuck, I dunno. Anything, whatever you want, I can fucking take it.”

“What would Cable do?” Peter blurted thoughtlessly, only to be immediately appalled at his own stupidity (callousness?). Peter couldn’t have asked something less appropriate if he’d tried, and it blew any of Wade’s social blunders out of the water.

In fact, Wade’s entire body tensed instantly at the question, his hole seizing painfully around Peter and his hands trembling even as he continued to hold himself open. He keened into the sheets, and Peter thought the sound seemed a little fearful. He rushed to assure, “You don’t have to answer that, Wade. I’m sorry.”

Wade breathed wetly and heavily for a moment, clearly forcing his body to unclench and accept Peter’s fingers. “After the first time, I, uh, usually prepped myself. . . Otherwise he’d just ram his way in.” 

Typically when Wade said something like that, it sounded raunchy and made Peter hot, but this particular delivery was flat and made his blood run cold. Peter forced himself not to react even as he hated himself a little more for having brought this up now. Obviously his jealousy had been stupid, small-minded and insensitive. He gently rotated his fingers inside the easing body, soothing it back to its previously welcoming state. “How bout we warm up with a smaller cock first, yeah?”

Wade seemed to breathe a little easier as Peter withdrew his fingers. Then Peter sat back on his heels, quickly taking in the hard, naked body before he reached between those thick thighs, and wrapped the lubed mess that was his right hand firmly around Wade’s heavy cock. Peter tugged it slowly, eyes fixated on the loose rim of Wade’s hole; it remained relaxed and faintly open and taunted Peter to just shove his dick in like they both wanted. Soon he straightened, shuffling his knees closer, so that he could place his good hand on the small of Wade’s back and prod the yielding muscle with the head of his cock. Wade groaned and his hands pulled his cheeks farther apart, stretching open the lax entrance. 

“Fuck me now, Spidey,” Wade demanded with a whiny sorta growl. “My hole feels so empty.” 

“I’m the one giving orders here,” Peter reprimanded playfully, then he pushed into Wade, fast and easy and all the way to the hilt. They both groaned at the wet, wonderful friction, and Peter quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, slow enough for his injured shoulder though not what either really wanted. “Aw, God. You feel so good, I wish I could really pound into your ass. So hot,” thrust, “and soft,” thrust, “and greedy.”

Though Peter did like the way Wade’s body swayed with his movements, and kinda bobbed on his cock with each plunge. Without his hands to brace him, Peter’s hips and one good hand guided all of Wade’s movements, and for a couple minutes Peter played with different bouncing rhythms until they were both panting and grunting. Given how long he’d sported this particular hard on, Peter wasn’t surprised when he neared climax quickly; but when he stayed stubbornly at that plateau, he was frustrated to realize that he couldn’t get over the final hurdle without a little more speed and friction. 

He abruptly pulled out and Wade keened in loss. “Petey! Please don’t stop!”

Peter ignored the plea (Wade would get his), and started stripping his slick dick with his good hand, jacking it hard and fast, chasing his elusive orgasm. It only took him a dozen seconds to groan loudly, and shoot cum all on Wade’s hole and crack. Peter dropped back on his heels then, watching the white mess seep into Wade’s entrance, but mostly drip quickly down to his balls.  
Except then Wade let go of his cheeks, one arm taking his weight and lifting his chest up, while the other immediately reached for his dick. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot!” Wade exclaimed, voice finally unmuffled by the mattress. “No one’s ever done that to me before.”

Peter’d never done it before either, and he couldn’t help laughing a little, still breathlessly coming down from his orgasm. Peter gave himself a moment to enjoy the feeling and recoup, which also gave Wade a moment to masturbate vigorously, then it was time to finish this. “Now stop touching yourself, slut, you cum when I’m ready. . . Back in position. This time use one hand to brace yourself, and the other to hold yourself open.”

Wade assumed the position effortlessly, so Peter retrieved the fire hydrant and again kneeled behind his boyfriend. He cheated a little and used his injured arm to hold the dildo as he lubed it up, but then he was positioning the red monstrosity at Wade’s entrance, and he felt a stab of concern for the other man. The fake cock really was too big, and they both knew Wade wouldn’t be telling him no. “We. . . don’t have to do this, you know.”

Predictably, Wade let out a dramatic wail. “Don’t you dare stop now, Spidey!” 

Peter chuckled at him, then turned careful attention to the task at hand. As always, he was responsible for their safety, and he used a precise strength to slowly press the large red cock at Wade’s distended, cum slick rim, stretching it taunt, and then pushing the muscle to gape even wider until – 

“Uuungh!,” Wade grunted loudly as the massive cockhead breached his entrance, to immediate resistance. Peter held the fire hydrant still for a long moment as Wade panted through the burn, amazed at the site of that small pucker spread so wide and pinned open by dark red rubber. The thought of that huge length disappearing into Wade’s overly willing body was almost enough to get Peter going again. It was difficult to know if Wade was ready for more, so Peter cautiously eased the toy in further, and Wade’s body took it gradually and with effort, legs trembling and hole spasming. After several inches, Wade’s shallow breathing sped up and his body shook so hard that Peter stopped. He used his hip to keep the dildo in place, freeing his good hand to stroke Wade’s tense spine. Daringly, he dragged fingertips along a jagged scar that slashed across Wade’s mid back, where usually he would skirt over such markings as though they didn’t exist. Impaled and agitating on the huge rubber cock, Wade could only quiver and whimper at the intimate caress. 

Peter rocked gently against the dildo, thoroughly distracting Wade as it penetrated him further. There was a red patch near Wade’s hip that always looked painful and cracked, like road burn, and Peter finally gave into the curiosity to touch. “Do you like this, babe? Do you feel full yet?”

“Fuck yes, Spidey! I’m so full!”

The strong resistance of Wade’s body suggested that it’d be difficult to really fuck him with the fire hydrant, especially one handed, but Peter had the tinkling of an idea. He’d gotten pretty accustomed to being spontaneous and unfiltered with Wade, particularly while having sex, so when a half formed plan came together, he ran with it. “It’s time to choose the end of this adventure, Deadpool. If you want, I can shove this baseball bat all the way in. I don’t have a lot of finesse with one hand, but I can still fuck you hard and fast. . . We can even get that ball gag there and you could pretend I’m Cable not giving a shit about you.”

His words elicited a shocked (fearful?) moan from his boyfriend, and the sound sent a full body thrill back through Peter that inevitably settled in his own pick. It was a real rush to feel so powerful, and he couldn’t resist twisting the huge fake cock in a little further. “Or I could just leave this thing in you for a while. For however long it takes until it’s not just a feeling, you really are full and complete; until you’ve forgotten about Cable and everyone else but me. I’m the one who’s split you open with a goddamn fire hydrant, and I want to keep it deep inside you, until your hole is so loose that I know I’ve broken you in even more. . . Until you know unequivocally that you’re mine . . . And then maybe, if you’ve been a really good boy, I won’t take it out, but I might touch your dick a little.” 

Wade’s entire body was perspiring and quivering slightly, but he’d clearly been listening intently. He released a sob at Peter’s words, not his usual histrionic wail, but something quieter and more injured. “I’ll be good for you! Please, Peter. . . I’m can be good, I swear. I’m a good boy.”

What was he doing? Maybe he was the truly disturbed one, Peter considered with a little bit of self-disgust. He was basically working out his frustration and feelings of impotence regarding his injury by playing God in his boyfriend’s emotional minefield, manipulating Wade’s feelings and reactions for his own sexual gratification – as evidenced by his own renewed erection. It was suddenly obvious to Peter that he was getting off on uncovering the damaged man beneath the literal and metaphorical masks; and, worse, it felt as natural as brushing away sand.

“I know you are,” Peter assured gently, knowing that at the very least he had to finish what he’d started. Even in his shame, he was responsible for having brought Wade this far and was now responsible for getting him through it. “Carefully now, turn around.”

Peter held the fake cock firmly inside Wade as he eased around awkwardly to lie on his back, chest heaving and shining with sweat, his legs bent and splayed around Peter. He was grimacing at the overwhelming stimulation, and there were drying tears at the corner of his eyes. Regardless, Wade’s actual cock was engorged, red and swollen and dripping down itself; his balls were pulled up tight and quivering; and below his sack, his distended rim still fluttered slightly around the wide red circumference that held his cheeks apart and stuffed his hole to the brim. It was absolutely the hottest thing Peter had ever seen, and he cursed his shoulder for preventing him from leaning over to mouth Wade’s phenomenal prick, to maybe lick around and sooth the edge of that abused hole. 

Instead Peter nestled the base of the hire hydrant into the mattress, propping it in well enough that he could bring his good hand up to touch Wade’s body. Wade breathed heavily through Peter’s attentions, as his damp skin was stroked, his tight nipples were pinched, and his trembling thighs scratched. Finally Peter fondled his balls and Wade groaned in obvious appreciation. “Fuck, please! Touch my cock! I’ll do anything!”

“That wasn’t very long,” Peter teased, though his voice was kind and affectionate. His fingers dipped lower to rub lightly around the distended hole, right where the rim fused to the red rubber. “Do you feel complete yet?”

“Yes, yes!” Wade affirmed desperately. “Jerry McGuire was right, you fucking complete me!” 

Peter so very slowly pushed the giant prick in just a little farther, and Wade keened weakly, legs and hips tensing even as his hole couldn’t. “Oh, God, Peter. Please. . .”

Peter eased off the pressure, genuinely impressed that Wade had taken in over ten inches of the foot long monstrosity. Then he carefully rotated the massive toy, friction dragging it slowly around Wade’s channel, and he watched his expression contort further in exquisite pleasure. “Are you sure you’re fully broken in, love?”

“You know I am,” Wade whined quickly and breathlessly. “I’m a fucking Peter shaped hole for you to fill up as much or as little as you want. I’m anything you want me to be.” 

Going on instinct more than analysis, Peter recognized that this was the moment he’d been waiting for: when the dirty talk gave way to something more real and raw. And as always, it was so heartbreaking and painfully beautiful that Peter gave in eagerly. He wrapped his fingers around Wade’s engorged member and immediately started stroking up and down. “God, yes! Please don’t stop!”

Peter’s grip on Wade tightened, and then he stripped that workhorse cock harder and faster. Wade was clearly close, and it took less than a minute for all two hundred plus pounds of muscle to seize and arch up, orgasm shuddering through his body with a loud, throaty moan. Peter admired the muscles, the strength, the endurance; just, everything. Some day Peter would ask Wade which previous lover used to get him all revved up and then STOP. He didn’t think it was Cable, but he had enough mercy and sense to leave it for another day. Perhaps for a later round of kinky, soul-baring sex. The possibilities tantalized even as Peter scolded himself for treating his manipulative behavior so casually.

As Wade relaxed, Peter helped ease the massive intrusion from his stretched out hole, eliciting a series of whimpers as long, thick inches dragged slowly out through his still distended rim. Then Wade’s entire body shook and shuddered with a second, weaker orgasm, his soft dick pulsing a thin stream of cum as the large head finally squeezed out of his opening, and he released a lingering moan. 

For a moment Peter felt proud of his accomplishment, lording over the completely debauched Deadpool. He wished he could see Wade’s hole, he just knew it was completely wrecked and gaping. Maybe he’d ask Wade to roll back on his front and show him, to let Peter touch the soft, vulnerable channel, maybe even fuck into it again. . . But then Wade lifted his hand and covered his eyes with his thick forearm, lips pressed into a thin line, and Peter felt like an asshole. He suddenly needed, for both their benefit, to cuddle up and comfort his exposed, hurting lover, but Peter simply couldn’t lie on his side like that right now. Instead he had to carefully recline on his back with Pool on his good side, and then use his arm to roll the bigger body his way. Pool went willingly, eagerly wrapping a muscular arm around Peter’s torso and holding on tight while he hid his heated face in the crook of Peter’s neck. 

Peter’s own strong arm wrapped around Wade’s shoulder and back, and he could feel the little tremors that racked his body. This had happened a couple times before, post-orgasm, after Peter had ripped a scab off one of Wade’s wounds – like the first time, with the mirror. Comforting the older man afterward felt so tender and intimate that Peter enjoyed it almost as much as the fucked up sex; he didn’t just feel desired and wanted, he felt needed. Too bad that with greater understanding of his own actions, he now also felt guilty and could only sorta take pleasure in their shared come down.

“You are good, Wade, so good. . . You’re just prefect for me,” Peter soothed, gently stroking his hand from Wade’s bald skull, down his strong neck and scarred back. He didn’t want to go back to pretending the marks weren’t there, so again he let his fingertips linger on the uneven ridges and grooves and bumps, making Wade hold on even tighter and burrow closer. Peter lightly petted a new growth on Wade’s shoulder and Wade rubbed his face into Peter’s neck like a cat. 

“I love you so much,” Peter confessed quietly. “Sometimes it feels like there’s not enough room in my chest for how much I feel.”

Wade didn’t respond, but gradually his breathing evened out, and his body stilled and grew lax. After a few minutes he propped himself up a little so he could gaze shyly down at Peter with a contented grin. “I love you too. And there’s definitely not enough room in my chest, it’s burst out of my heart and sprayed in all directions like cum out of a sprinkler.” 

“Okay, that’s just gross,” Peter commented, gently brushing their noses together with an affectionate smile; but it faded quickly as his concerns resurfaced. “Was that all, you know. . . okay?”

“That was amazing,” Wade replied, with such an open, adoring expression that Peter had to look away. It was painful to see such a rare expression of happiness and peace on that harsh face, only to ruin it with Peter’s own guilt.

“Even the part where I, uh, sorta made you cry? Where I brought up bad memories?” Peter’s voice dropped to a shameful mumble, “Where I used your shitty past to manipulate you?”

With a sigh, Wade rolled off Peter, just enough that they could both gaze pensively at the ceiling, shoulders pressed together. Peter thought for a second that maybe it was his turn to cry, but then Wade’s hand found his and held it tight in the unnerving silence. It seemed like forever before he responded magnanimously, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, boo. . . I let you do it, just like the last time. I’ve given you my blanket consent, and that still holds. You can do anything you want to me, including mess with my head, make me cry, beg, whatever. . . I trust that you’ll make it worth my while. And if you don’t – well, I know you’ll fix anything you break.”

“Come here,” Peter ordered, voice cracking as he bit back a sob, face bunching up as he was briefly overwhelmed by a wave of affection, relief, and heartache. He didn't deserve the level of trust that Wade had placed in him, yet his lover still rolled right back into his arms, just as easily as the first time, face fitting perfectly back into the crook of Peter’s neck. Peter hooked his good arm around Wade and held him tightly as a couple tears squeezed out painfully. “The last thing I want is to break you. I like you just the way you are.”

Wade, to his credit, gave Peter a minute to calm and find his equilibrium before musing seductively, “Sometimes though, you have to break a bone to reset it.” 

“Oh yeah?” Peter prompted, uncertain why that sounded sexy beyond the fact that Wade was murmuring it in his ear and apparently revitalizing his half hard cock. Still, he welcomed the attempt to move beyond the heavier emotional bloodletting. 

“I bet that if you were clever about it, you could slowly break me down, like so many misshapen bones, and reset me to heal anyway you want.” The words were erotic, though they also bordered on terrifying. Wade tried to belittle their truth by purring, “You could even rebuild me as your perfect sex slave. I am yours after all.”

“That’s pretty sick,” Peter whispered, dipping his head down to join their lips languidly. “Even if you’d make an absolutely spectacular sex slave.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I felt I had to tackle this one TROPE that I always loved. Said trope got sweet revenge by actually being very challenging to write. PLEASE REVIEW! Lemme know if it worked.

By the following week, Peter was back to his full schedule: work, school, and, after a trial run with Deadpool, even patrolling. Wade missed having extra time with him, but at least Peter was in improved spirits. And there were numerous carnal advantages to his improving health. 

On Wednesday evening, Peter was doing homework on his laptop, sitting across the couch with his toes tucked under Pool’s leg. The former mercenary was vegging out in front of the telly, mind blissfully on standby; it was an experience that he enjoyed even more when Peter’s presence filled the nothingness with a warm glow. His hypnosis was suddenly interrupted by a toe prodding his thigh with a degree of violence.

“Earth to Pool. . . Hey, TV head!”

“What’s up?” Pool asked reflexively, snapping to awareness. He was wearing his soft mask and civvies, the new norm slash unspoken rule for appropriate attire while Peter was home. 

“Really into the Big Bang Theory?” Peter asked pointedly, eyebrow raised and clearly making fun of him.

[Is that’s what’s on? I’d totally love to turn Sheldon’s ass OUT! I just know he’s a screamer.]

[[He’s a fictional character dumbass.]]

“Maybe? Sometimes,” Wade said, a little overwhelmed by the onslaught of voices.

Peter gave him an affectionate smile. “You won’t believe the email I just got.”

“Is it for natural penile enhancement?” Wade joked, getting with the program.

“No, jerk!” Peter toed him viciously. “Steve Rogers invited us to the Avengers karaoke night on Saturday.” 

“WHAT?! NO WAY!” Pool jumped to feet, then jumped into the air, pumping his fist. “That’s the coolest thing ever!”

[Handspring time!]

He was about to do a handspring, except that Peter was staring at him as though he had a second masked head. “I wasn’t thinking we’d actually go. Obviously.”

“Why the fuck not?” [[Peter is the one with two heads!]] “This totally makes up for never being invited anywhere!”

Peter gave him that pitying look. “Pool, reality check. They don’t like either of us right now. They’re gonna treat us like crap. And several of them do that quite well.”

“Who cares?” Wade dismissed, unphased by Peter’s apparent disinterest in a good time. “They don’t treat you that bad, and they’ve always treated me like crap. But you’re missing the part where the Avengers themselves have invited us to AVENGERS KARAOKE. This is the opportunity of a lifetime! Or at least the wet dream of Marvel fanfic! Even if it is a disaster, it’s gonna to be a phenomenal disaster. Can’t you just picture the Hulk singing, It’s Not Easy Being Green? Black Widow rapping, Black Widow? You crooning Take Me Church on the stage, giving me bedroom eyes as you mouth the microphone!”

“Ugh, I guess we’re going then,” Peter conceded with exaggerated dismay. Then he bolted into motion, springing across the couch to Wade and wrestling him into a reclined position. He kissed Wade’s spandex cover lips. “But I’m not getting up on that stage. Yours is the only microphone I’ll be mouthing that night.” 

! ^_^ !

Stark had rented out (owned?) a ritzy karaoke party suite, with plenty of space for all the loud personalities in attendance: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, even Thor and his lady friend. There were also a few others there that Pool didn’t recognize, but were hot enough to either be less famous heroes or Stark sponsored eye candy.

[Hot damn! This is by far the swankiest place we’ve ever not had to crash.]

[[Yeah, let’s try not to piss on the floor, break the sound system, or do anything else that might get us forcibly removed.]]

No one was on the dance floor yet, but Wilson was on stage and everyone else was sitting about on little couches, alcohol apparently flowing freely. As the only ones in full costume, Pool and Spidey were conspicuous from the moment they walked in. Still, Falcon singing I Believe I Can Fly had already made Deadpool’s night; and after staring open mouthed for a full minute, a near permanent Cheshire grin was branded to his face. When Captain Fucking America waved at them, Pool hooked elbows with Spidey and excitedly dragged him over to where Rogers was sitting with Romanov and Barton. 

“Hey, Cap! Nice place, Stark really pulled out all the stops! Can’t wait to check out the buffet! Smells amazing! Thanks for the invite, bee tee double-yuh! Spidey wasn’t so sure about coming, but I wouldn’t miss this for all the world! I absolutely LOVE and ADORE karaoke!” Then Spidey kicked him in the shin, so Deadpool tried to moderate his overly enthusiastic verbal diarrhea. Rogers was staring at him with wide eyes, and Romanov was using a hand to block her view of him, so maybe Pool’s natural obnoxiousness was already bowling over the superheroes. Barton, at least, was grinning expectantly at him. “Tell me, Cap, did I miss any good numbers?”

Rogers was silent for a beat, as if waiting to see if Pool would keep going. He almost did, but forced himself to stare bug-eyed until he got the socially mandated response from Cap, “Well, um, Stark started us off with Not Dead Yet.”

“Nooo!” Pool howled dramatically, stamping a foot. “That’s MY song. Well, one of my songs. How dare he?!”

“Maybe next time you two should do it together,” Spidey snarked.

“That’s a fabulous idea!” Deadpool bounced up and down on his toes, clapping his hands together. “It’ll be an epic musical showdown for the ages! Me break dancing in my frilly frock, Stark stuck doing the robot in his tin suit! The marquee will read ‘The Drop Dead Diva Versus Iron Maiden: Not Dead Yet’!” 

Barton cracked up at that, slapping his knee as he laughed and prodding Romanov so vigorously that even she cracked a smile. Rogers looked lost, but amused, and Pool counted it as a win. 

“I’d pay to see that,” Barton sighed. “Anything’s better than Bruce taking the Beatles too seriously again.”

“What’re you going to do, Hawkguy?” Pool demanded immediately. “Please tell me Bon Jovi! ♪♬ Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame! You give lo-o-ove a bad name! ♪♬”

“I was thinking more the Boss. Whadya say, Steve?” Clint turned to Steve and batted his eyes. “Will you do Born in the USA with me?”

[Ooo, ooo! Me! Me! Fuck Canada!]

Steve shook his head, both hands up in mock defense. “Hey, I’ve only got one song prepared, and that’s the only one I’m doing. I don’t need the embarrassment of struggling through some song I barely know.”

“Ha!,” Pool barked, having reached the ten seconds of listening that was currently his upper limit. “That’s basically any cracker that’s ever tried rap karaoke, like, ever.”

“That’s generally my opinion on the matter,” Sam chimed in as he sauntered up, apparently done with his soulful rendition of R Kelly. 

Deadpool’s eyes immediately shot to the stage, where Thor’s girlfriend appeared to be helping him select something. Luckily, his mouth kept going without him, “Though I do a pretty wicked version of Baby’s Got Back. ♪♬ I like big butts and I cannot lie! ♪♬”

There were a few smiles, so Deadpool kept up the conversation, acting out past karaoke disasters and gradually putting the others at ease until they were telling their own stories. Spidey, not being much of one for public humiliation, had never performed karaoke in his life, and just stood beside him, the awkward one for once. Eventually he muttered, “I need a drink,” and departed stage right, unwittingly taking Wade’s confidence with him. 

Pool watched him leave wistfully, and then glanced back at the circle of people. They were all kinda looking at him, as though watching the Deadpool show, waiting for him to do something funny or embarrassing or awful, as always. It made him want to run after his boyfriend, but there’s no way that wouldn’t make him look like a pussy in front of all his heroes.

[Maybe if we stand really still, they won’t be able to see us. You know, like a Tee Rex can’t see movement?]

That was terrible advice, Pool knew that, and yet he froze anyway. If Thor wasn’t throttling the intro to Greased Lightening [Classic!], Pool imagined everyone would’ve heard the goddamn birds chirping in the silence.

Except that there was never any silence in his head, and Yellow started up a faint, mocking tune. [[♪♬ There ought to be a sideshow act, for freaks like me. . . In a room with a big red button that says danger do not touch, twice a day I’d mash it down and you’d watch me self-destruct. ♪♬]] Twitch.

The now tainted manic energy was building and Pool tensed, dreading his upcoming spazz out, the inevitable disdainful looks and comments, and even worse, Spidey’s disappointment. Two gloved fingers started tapping nervously on his thigh, beginning the ramp up, only for Black Widow to suddenly stand and wrap an elegant arm around his elbow. “Shall we check out the buffet? Stark must’ve ordered enough to feed an army, and I do so hate to see food go to waste.”

“A lady after my own stomach,” Pool commented, holding on for dear life as Romanov steered him away from the others and towards the ornate display of food. He immediately felt a million times better, because if there was one arena in which he was truly comfortable, it was eating. He didn’t even get a little plate, opting instead for a serving tray which he piled high with barbeque ribs, fried chicken, ravioli, shrimp fried rice, mini burritos, garbage pizza, two different kinds of pie, and several cookies. He took his tray over to a dark corner where he could stuff his face in peace, without an audience.

Only to find that Romanov had followed him with her own dainty plate. “Uh. Thanks for the save back there, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to witness the massacre that is about to take place right here. . . First I’m gonna pulverize these burritos, then I’m gonna decimate this fried rice, then maybe murder the fuck out of this chicken.”

[Don’t forget those mousy little wontons, I’m gonna eradicate those bastards!]

She took a seat across from him. “Let me guess. Next you will slaughter the mushroom ravioli in its vodka cream sauce?” 

“You get the picture,” Pool replied, nodding and eying the food greedily. Shouldn’t she be leaving? “Maybe you’d like to move out of the splatter radius?”

Natasha raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I eat with Clint and Tony on a regular basis, not to mention Thor and the Hulk occasionally. I’ve seen it all.”

[[Fine. The bitch asked for it.]]

Pool rolled his leather mask up so that it rested under his nose, not even making an effort to hide his scarred face. Then he squashed the burrito between two slices of pizza like a sandwich and took a massive bite, making sure to rip messily and shake food all over the platter, the floor and himself. He proceeded to chew with his mouth open, deliberately making obscene sounds of pleasure.

Natasha didn’t even bat an eyelash, using the chopsticks to pop a sushi roll in her mouth. When she had swallowed, the reason for her presence became clear. “So. Let’s talk about you and Spiderman.”

[DO IT!]

[[Remember that self-restraint we’ve been working on? To be the kind of man that Peter wants and deserves? Don’t do it.]]

Pool shut his mouth firmly in an effort not to intentionally spit his food in the Black Widow’s too perfect face. Maybe she could tell what he was thinking, because she leaned back ever so slightly as she continued, “I’m not going to accuse you of any intentional evil. Your various displays at Stark Tower have convinced most of us that your affections are, at the very least, genuine.”

That was something, he supposed. Feeling a little less hostile but definitely still wary, Pool swallowed his large mouthful, pulled down his mask, and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what then?”

In response, she leaned forward and laid out her concerns with more patience and empathy than he had ever received from her before. “Try to understand where we’re coming from, Deadpool. Spiderman is a decade younger than Cap, and more than that regarding the rest of the team. We want to look out for him because we all remember going through rough times in our youth, struggling to figure out who we are and how we can do good with our abilities. It’s hard to believe that you can help him with that journey, given that you’re clearly still dealing with the same issues.”

[Check out the Winter Soldier’s Eddie Vedder impression!]

On the stage, Wilson had dragged a scowling Bucky Barnes on stage for the on-point selection of Bon Jovi’s It’s My Life, only the latter was mumbling semi-incoherently along to Wilson’s much more impressive vocals. Pool watched the [Hysterical!] disaster for a few seconds as he gathered his disjointed thoughts. 

“Listen, Widow. Your bead on me is better than on Spidey. Yes, I struggle with who I am and how to do good. But Spidey doesn’t, at least not any more. I’ve never met anyone with such an unwavering, compassionate understanding of right and wrong, not even Captain Fucking America. . . Spidey’s been a hero since he was fifteen. He’s experienced injury and loss and guilt, public adoration and disapproval. Maybe it’s cuz he started earlier, but he’s come a lot farther by twenty than any of us at that age. From day one he hasn’t put up with any of my bullshit, he’s basically forced me to be a better person in order to be with him. He’s the goddamn pillar of strength and character in our relationship, and he doesn’t need me to help with that. Obviously.”

Romanov’s focus could vaporize water, but it was such a change from the open hostility of their last encounter that Deadpool was hopeful despite the pointed questions. “If all that’s true, then what can you possibly have to offer him? Other than your literally undying devotion?”

[[We ask ourselves that everyday.]]

[Though less than we used to.]

Pool leaned forward, as though about to reveal the big secret, his lascivious grin hidden under his mask. “Maybe you should ask him that. . . But I’d say that there are still some uncharted depths of his identity that require another person to explore properly. If you catch my drift.” 

Romanov’s eyebrow cocked up again, but it was more assessing than skeptical. “And what happens to you if he shines light into every dark corner and then decides that he wants more than you can offer him? Like something approaching a normal life?”

[[This is brutal. Give me Aunt May any day.]]

Deadpool shrugged with a nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “Dunno. Maybe I’ll walk away. Or just kill myself everyday for the rest of my life. Or go nuts, kidnap and torture Spidey until he loves me again. Y’all might have to deal with me in that case. Or maybe I’ll turn into someone else entirely and win him over in new and exciting ways. Who knows? I’m sorry, were you expecting a psychologically healthy answer to that question?”

Romanov actually gave him a faint smile. “No, I guess not.”

Eager to end the conversation, Pool asked obnoxiously, “So. Any chance we’re gonna hear you perform Black Widow?”

Romanov rolled her eyes and stood. “Maybe you and Clint should do it, since you both seem to like that song so much.”

Widow took her leave of him then, and Deadpool scanned the room for his boyfriend. He spotted that sexy, firm ass still at the bar, apparently flirting with the superhot bartender. She was just a little shorter than Spidey, with large, voluptuous breasts and fake blond hair, exactly the kind of woman that Deadpool would’ve approached and been accused of harassing the moment he opened his mouth. She was leaning on the bar to talk to Spidey though, cleavage on display and an inviting expression on her dolled up face. She was basically everything he wasn’t: soft and female, friendly and attractive, sane and normal (probably).

That was more than a little depressing, especially on the heels of Romanov’s last question about what Pool was supposed to do when Spidey moved on; so when he heard the opening beat of Stark and Pott’s selection, he jumped to his feet, quickly stuffed a couple wontons in his mouth and hurried to the empty dance floor. This was fucking AVENGERS KARAOKE, Iron Man himself was singing Queen Bey, and he absolutely would not be depressed!

[Cuz the only thing that can make karaoke better is break dancing!]

“♪♬ Up in the club, we just broke up, I’m doing my own little thing. ♪♬”

Deadpool sprinted the last few steps, to get enough speed to leap forward, tuck his head in and roll, then pop up in a classic air flare. He kept that up for several seconds before switching up the rhythm of his rotation with a leg-spinning windmill.

[Wheee-eee-eee!]

“♪♬ I’m up on him, he’s up on me. Don’t pay him any ah-ttention. ♪♬”

Pool sprung to his feet, bounced on his toes a couple times, flipped backwards once, bounced again, and then dived forward to flop on the floor and perform a vigorous worm. Then he launched his legs and torso in the air for a dozen hand hops, eventually punctuated by a freeze. As difficult and high energy as all these moves were, Deadpool had the ideal b-boy body type: phenomenal flexibility combined with an excess of core and upper body strength. A functional immunity to injury didn’t hurt either. 

“♪♬ Don’t be mad once you see that he want it, cuz if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it! ♪♬”

Next up Pool inverted himself again for a protracted head spin, then eventually transitioned into a traditional back spin. When his body slowed this time, he whipped to his feet hands-free, only to pretend to lose his balance and pull off a classic suicide, “falling” back and letting his tired limbs splay like dead weight. Finally, finally, he was free of the manic energy that had been driving him all night. Staring up at the colored strobe lights and listening to Stark and Potts finish up Single Ladies, Deadpool finally felt at peace. Even the stupid boxes were quiet for a moment.

There was smattering of applause from the audience that had gathered, though it didn’t occur to Pool that it had anything to do with him. He grinned though when Spidey moved into his field of vision, looking down on him where he still lay on the floor. “That was amazing. And, uh, vigorous. You didn’t break anything, did you?”

“Of course not! I know what I’m doing,” Pool retorted with mock offense. He made no indication of getting up or moving until Spidey reached a hand out, and then he allowed that superhuman strength to haul him to his feet. “We should come up with a routine. With your physical abilities, I could teach you to break dance in an afternoon.” 

“Just what I wanted, to become a street performer,” Spidey returned sarcastically, but Pool could hear his amusement. 

Right then a large hand clapped down on Deadpool’s shoulder and a thunderous voice pronounced, “Mighty Deadpool! That was truly an impressive mating dance!” 

Both Spidey and Thor’s petite girlfriend laughed out loud. “That was called break dancing, dear. And while not a mating dance, it was quite an impressive display of athleticism.”

“Thank you,” Pool responded appreciatively, with a little bow.

Thor frowned a little in confusion. “That was not what you called “booty dancing”, Lady Jane? But he gyrated his manhood and posterior to great effect, as you described. And indeed his milkshake brought the boys to the yard.”

The image of Thor, Wilson, and Barton (the closest spectators) gathering around to see Deadpool’s milkshake was so epically ridiculous that it revived the boxes.

[[Choke – cough, cough. . . A-HAHAHA!]]

[♪♬ I could teach you, but I’d have to charge! ♪♬]

“My God, Jane,” Spidey snickered. “What kinda education are you giving him?” Jane didn’t even try to respond through her giggles. 

Deadpool had never formally met or even spoken to Thor, had only ever been in his vicinity. Now, however, he gazed at the god in absolute glee. Here was a hot mess that could entertain him forever! “Spidey declined, but would YOU like to learn? Dunno bout your flexibility, but you certainly have the strength.”

“Is that something you’d like to see, Lady Jane?” Thor asked seriously and solicitously.

“Yes, Thor. It really is.”

[Me too! Me too!]

[[Ok, so maybe I do too.]]

And so Deadpool gave an impromptu break dancing lesson, during which the God of Thunder proved both inflexible and a little clutzy, to the amusement of the spectators. Thor, however, was a great sport and they both had fun, especially when Barton and Wilson tried to master a couple moves. Deadpool’s laughs, however, ended abruptly when the Black Widow dragged her fellow spider away, presumably for his own “talk”. Pool kept an eye on them, noticing immediately when their conversation ended. Romanov went directly to Pepper Potts, while Spidey made a beeline for the bar. Deadpool quickly followed, leaving the novice b-boys to continue their hilarious efforts at self injury. 

The hot bartender had just moved off to fill Spidey’s order as Pool came up next to him, leaning back on the bar to watch whatever Cap was getting ready to do on stage. “So did that man eater manage to scare you off me completely?”

Spidey tilted his head in Pool’s direction, but not enough to really look at each other. 

“Not completely,” Spidey tried to tease, but his heart wasn’t in it, and Pool felt genuine fear bloom in his chest. Had she open his eyes to just how limited his life would be, chained to a social leper like Deadpool?

The bartender came back with a double shot of vodka. When Deadpool declined to order, she smiled flirtatiously at Spidey and moved off, giving him an excellent view of her plump and well displayed buttocks. On stage, Cap had finally gotten the karaoke machine to work and the music started. Spidey downed his shot and turned around to watch.

“♪♬ Just take those old records off the shelf, I’ll sit and listen to them by myself. Today’s music ain’t got the same soul, I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll. . . ♪♬”

[Great song, perfect choice for the man from the past!]

“You could take her home, if you wanted to,” Deadpool conceded casually, though his lungs seemed to shrink as he said it.

Spidey’s face turned towards him, slow and suspicious, “Take who home?”

[[Don’t do this, idiot. There’s no scenario in which this ends well. Either he takes us up on his offer and we try to find a way to decompensate in private; or he declines and we’ve once again displayed a humiliating lack of self-worth.]]

“But if it lets us keep Spidey, then it’ll be worth it. Anything would be worth it,” Pool mumbled inaudibly to himself, basically outing himself. He’d gotten a lot better about speaking directly to the boxes in the last months, which Spidey was well aware of. That he did so now was a pretty clear indication of his distress.

“Talk to me, Pool. What’s going on?” Spidey asked, now with concern, his gloved hand landing on his boyfriend’s arm as he turned completely to face him. 

Pool tried to gather his thoughts, but they were even more scattered than usual. “The bartender. If you want to take her home tonight, I can make sure to be elsewhere. I’d love to join you two, but I seriously doubt she’d be down for a threesome with Freddy Krueger.”

[Can you just imagine though? We’d each fuck into one of her tight holes, feeling our pricks rubbing together inside her and watching each other like we were fucking her together, like she was barely even there. . .]

Spidey’s hand clamped down hard enough to bruise, even through the leathers. “What’re you saying? That we’re not exclusive?! That it’s okay to bring people home to screw on the couch you bought for us? On our bed?”

Pool shrugged, though that imagery put lead in his stomach, to go with his tight chest. “If you want. I mean, I’d prefer if you stuck to women, that’d be easier to spin mentally, yeah? Cuz I can understand missing tits and pussy. But, uh, maybe I could wrap my head around you sleeping with other men too. As long as they didn’t stick around for too long. . . Or as long as you still made some time for me?”

[[Shut the fuck up already! Our bids are just getting lower and lower! Why don’t we just offer to move out so he can fuck whoever he wants whenever he wants, all while living on our dime?!]]

“Fuck!” Pool was really stressing out now, jerking his hand free as his words tumbled out and tripped over each other, “I don’t really have a lot of options, myself, but that doesn’t mean you should limit yourself to my all-you-can-eat buffet of freakiness. . . I know I’m always, uh, monopolizing everyone’s time and attention with my psychoses and breakdowns; but you’re, like, the wind beneath my wings and shit, so I just want you to be happy, whatever it takes. I can, you know, compromise if I have to. Just. . . Whatever makes you happy.” 

Spidey stared at him in silence for a long moment, and Pool couldn’t tell if it was because he was considering the offer or because the younger man was disappointed in him. Either way, it kinda felt like his head was spinning, possibly from not enough oxygen. In the background Cap’s version of Bob Seger kept going, “♪♬ Call me a relic, call me what you will. Call me old fashioned, call me over the hill. Today’s music ain’t got the same soul, I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll. . . ♪♬”

“Compromise on what exactly? Your happiness and wellbeing?,” Spidey finally asked, shaking his head slightly and sounding defeated. “Do you really think that cheating, or whatever, “an open relationship”, is something I’d be interested in? All the times I’ve told you that I love you, that you’re fucking MINE, have I ever given any indication that I’m willing to share you? Or that I want some lopsided mockery of a relationship where you’re mine and I barely give a shit?"

[[You tell this asshole, Peter! Get it though our thick fucking skull!]]

“Seriously, Pool, I’m almost offended that you think so little of me, of us.” Spidey's voice got a little rougher, irritation and disappointment bleeding through. Pool felt a little ashamed, except that he was desperately soaking up every reassuring word. “Only I’m pretty sure this is some product of your conversation with Natasha, damn her, seen through the lens of your insecurity. Frankly, I haven’t heard so much crap come out of your mouth since the time you tried to convince me you’re a cross between a sex Gumby and a hole in the wall. 

“So, no,” Spidey concluded decisively. “I will NOT be bringing anyone home tonight, or ever, and the same goes for you. And in the unlikely event that I someday miss sleeping with women, then you’ll just have to put one of those frilly dresses and show me how wet your pussy is. . . Am I clear?”

[Spidey is so hot right now! Let’s take him to the bathroom, get down on our knees and show him what a good girlfriend we would be!]

Pool nodded like a bobble head and lurched forward to squeeze Spidey to him. “Thank you.” He wanted to take in Peter’s comforting scent, but he couldn’t smell anything through the leather mask, and had to settle for pressing his nose to Spidey’s spandex covered hair. “I’m sorry for being so stupid all the time.” 

Spidey allowed the embrace, running a firm hand down the back of Pool’s head and neck. “You’re not stupid. You’ve been treated badly by a lot of people, I get that. . . But, Pool, just to be clear: bedroom talk aside, the plan has always been to someday marry the love of my life, not turn him into a sex slave, or my piece on the side. That’s just who I am, and that’s the only romantic future I’m interested in.”

[[You had me at, “You’re not stupid.”]]

Pool hugged Spidey so tight that it had to be hard to breathe, but the former merc could barely breathe himself. Getting married hadn’t even crossed his mind since his transformation; like dying and being normal, it was just something he’d assumed impossible in his new life.

When they finally drew apart, Spidey asked curiously, “I still wanna know why you fixated on the poor bartender.”

Pool scratched his cheek self-consciously as he glanced over at the gorgeous woman, who was now studiously avoiding the two queers. “You caught me. All the flirting made me jealous.”

“The flirting?” Spidey questioned skeptically. “You mean the conversation I had with one of the only normal people in this room about washers and dryers? A topic, by the way, that not a single one of the supposed heroes here knows anything about.”

[Seriously? Spidey must have, like, no game whatsoever. She totally wanted to jump his bones and he talked about home appliances?!]

Now Pool really did feel like an idiot, and he grinned sheepishly. “I guess?”

Spidey shook his head again, but this time he grabbed Pool’s hand and dragged him away from the bar. “I swore I wouldn’t do this, but you’ve left me no other choice.”

It only took Pool a couple seconds to realize that they were heading for the recently vacated stage, and his steps took on an excited bounce. “What exactly are you doing?”

“First tell me, have you settled on a song yet?”

“Either Sia’s I’m Alive, or Baby’s Got Back, depending on how I’m feeling at the moment.”

“So either a maudlin account of your life, or an ode to butts,” Spidey summarized. “Sounds like a typical Deadpool dilemma. One you will fortunately be spared, as there’s a much more pressing issue that needs to be addressed. Lyrically. With me.”

With that, Spidey dropped his hand and forewent the stairs in favor of leaping on stage. Deadpool followed on his heels and then moved to peer over Spidey’s shoulder while he made his song selection. “Oooh, bold choice! I likey.”

[What a dig, this is gonna bring the fucking house down! Eat your heart out, Stark!] 

Spidey and Pool took positions center stage, amidst some cheering and clapping, though not without Spidey adding meaningfully, “Just as long as you realize that this message is for everyone’s benefit, yours included.”

“Multiple meanings, check! I can get down with that.”

“Good. And I’ll have you know that I don’t sing in public for just anyone. You’re special.” 

[[Squeee! We love you, Spidey!]]

Then the music started up and Wilson promptly hollered, “Oh, hell yeah!”

“♪♬ What you want, baby I got. . . What you need, do you know I’ve got it. . . All I’m askin’, is for a little respect when you come home, just a little bit. . . ♪♬” Spidey, to his eternal credit, threw himself into his performance, singing enthusiastically as he wagged and pointed his finger around like a weapon. Though he wasn’t a particularly good singer, and was a little off key, he had clearly sung this one in the shower before. 

“♪♬ I ain’t gon’ do you wrong, while you’re gone. Ain’t gonna do you wrong, cuz I don’t wanna. . . All I’m askin’, is for a little respect when you come home. ♪♬” Spidey looked at Pool meaningfully during those lines, then went back to projecting his demands to the audience. 

Deadpool tried to keep up, but while he could hip check with the best of them, and was technically the better singer, his gravelly baritone was better suited to Sia and Tom Waits than Aretha Franklin. He could only imagine what a comical scene they were making, and the thought made him cheesily happy. This was a million times better than Sir Mix-a-lot.

It’s a short song, but it was a fabulous time, especially, “♪♬ R E S P E C T, find out what it means to me! R E S P E C T, take care T C B! ♪♬”

At the end Spidey took a quick bow and Pool mock-curtseyed, to a spattering of applause, then both exited the stage in high spirits. 

“I think I’m a little drunk,” Spidey admitted goofily, pretending to careen into his boyfriend, who wrapped an arm around his trim waist. “Maybe you should help me home and take advantage of me.”

[Sex. . . or food. Uhhh. . . um. . . Can’t we shower Spidey’s abs with fried rice and this vacuum it off with our mouth?]

[[That is not sexy. Particularly if you end up making shrimp jokes about his dick.]]

“No maybe about that.” Pool’s hand dipped low to briefly caress the tempting lower curve of Spidey’s glorious ass. “You think I can get my platter of food to go?”

“Probably. I’d berate you for your priorities, but actually I’m famished too. Let’s go see how much we can carry outta here.”

The hot bartender provided them with a couple small boxes, which they filled with food while simultaneously snacking. They were heading for the door when Stark approached, flanked by Cap, Widow, and Pepper Potts. Deadpool tensed, unconsciously adopting a battle ready stance, even as Spidey stepped a little forward. 

[Look! He’s gonna defend us to his superhero buddies!]

[[Cuz he loves us. Remember this next time we have an acute attack of self-doubt.]]

Stark, however, looked downright constipated when he stopped in front of the couple, and the other three suddenly seemed more like they were guarding against his escape than backing him up. 

“Tony,” Spidey acknowledged. “Great party, thanks for having us.”

“No problemo. You paid your way in entertainment value.” It was a bit of a backhanded compliment and Potts actually elbowed Stark in the ribs. “Ow! That hurt, woman.”

The lanky blonde stepped forward and held out her hand to Deadpool. “Pepper Potts, pleased to meet you.”

[Gorgeous women never introduce themselves to us.]

Pool was a little slow on the uptake, but manage to shake her hand. “Deadpool. Pleasure’s all mine, of course.” 

Potts stepped back to put the attention back on Stark, who was still rubbing his side and glaring a little at Deadpool. “I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that I owe you an apology.”

[[No way.]]

[Grovel bi-otch!]

There was a long pause before Spidey prompted, “Was that the apology?”

“Tony,” Cap harangued, with that undeniable puppy face and his patented tone of Great Disapproval. Its power was only rivaled by Pepper Potts’ heart wrenching expression of Great Disappointment. 

Tony sighed, then straightened up like a man readying for his execution. “Deadpool. I formally apologize for treating you with disrespect and hostility, even when it became clear that your intentions towards Spiderman are – well, not pure, but at least not evil or malicious. And I apologize to you, Spiderman, for not respecting your choice of, uh, partner, however incomprehensible it might be to me.” Tony tilted his head down slightly. “As of now, this is officially None of My Business. . . Just make sure it stays that way.”

“Thank you,” Spidey replied so graciously that Pool suspected an undercurrent of irritation.

[[Hell has officially frozen over. Definitely a memory for the scrapbook. Now let's respond like an adult.]]

“You stole my Styx song,” Pool accused petulantly. “Do I get an apology for that?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, though Spidey snickered, Potts grinned, and even Cap half-smiled. Stark narrowed his eyes with a little less humor, “Absolutely not. There’s no way you do Not Dead Yet better than me.”

[A challenger!]

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” Deadpool retorted, excitedly, bouncing up on his toes. “Sounds like you’ve just thrown down the gauntlet!”

“Nope!” Spidey interrupted rapidly, grabbing Pool by the arm and tugging him towards the door. “We have important things to do at home, remember? Thanks for inviting us, Cap!”

“Thanks for coming, both of you.”

“Next time, Stark!” Pool called out, pointing at Iron Man. Then really loudly, “PEACE OUT, PARTY ANIMALS!”

Stumbling out into the night, Spidey gave a mighty, if good humored sigh of relief. “Man. I can’t believe we survived that.”

“Are you kidding me? That was a total blast! Best party ever!” Pool raved energetically.

“Yeah? Even the part where you thought I’d spend the night screwing the bartender while you listened through the “escape route”?” Spidey teased.

Pool shrugged uncaringly, still bouncing a little as they walked down the sidewalk. “That’s life on the Poollercoaster. The peaks and dips just make the ride more exciting.”

[Wheee!]

“Ain’t that the truth.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: BDSM. See end of chapter for specific warnings.

Wade was a study in contradictions. He was both sane and crazy, masculine and feminine, wrong and right; he was often aggressive, callous, and vulgarly sexual, yet he could also be submissive, sensitive, and loving. Peter appreciated both sides, just as he reveled in the contradiction. He often wondered what kind of man Wade would’ve been, had he survived his cancer in a more conventional way. There was a lot of psychological trauma from his multitude of horrific deaths, particularly from his torture at the hands of Kilbrew; and there was also an obvious and extreme self-confidence issue regarding his appearance. But Peter also recognized that Wade had to have been a troubled man even before the cancer. His relative lack of self-worth, as well as his string of damaging relationships, likely traced back to years of childhood abuse at the hands of his father. 

So he understood if Wade might not really be into the whole violation theme, or if he was hesitant to get in touch with that part of himself. They’d talked about it a handful of times now, way more than they’d talked about any other fantasy. They identified specific acts that they were more or less comfortable with, and Peter had even chosen a safe word, Oxygen, though said that he might prefer to tap out. Was he supposed to do more than bring it up? Like tie himself up and wait naked on the bed to surprise Wade? That level of instigation seemed to defeat the purpose a little. 

They could just “forget” about it, but the degree of denial would be too glaring at this point, given the conversations, the teasing, even the taunts during sex. Besides, denial didn’t seem to fare too well in the context of their naturally transgressive relationship, and in this case they both seemed to want it. So Peter brought the topic up yet again, after a particularly satisfying bout of sex in which Wade’s talk had become demanding and possessive even as his movements and actions spoke of control and care. 

“That was hot as hell.” In the end, they had lay on their sides, Peter’s leg curled up as Wade rocked into him from behind, easily working his dick to the slow rhythm. In contrast to the gentle movements, Wade mouthed nasty nothings into his ear about claiming Peter’s hole for the night, how Wade was going to fuck him over and over and over, until Peter was begging him to stop; but not stopping, continuing instead to penetrate and use Peter’s boneless, exhausted body for his own pleasure; before finally they would both fall asleep, Wade’s limp dick still claiming his sloppy, sated hole. 

Then a minute later Peter ventured, “Are we ever gonna try it that way? If you’ve, like, changed your mind about wanting it, I hope you’d respect us both enough to say so.”

Wade’s face was smooshed into Peter’s shoulder, his arm around the other man’s ribs; he tensed at the question. After a pause, he turned his head just enough to muffle out, “It’s not about whether I want to do it or not. I just. . . hate the idea of you seeing me like that. What if you look at me differently afterwards? What if you’re afraid of me? I don’t want to be more of a creep, or fucking scary. . . I fight against that part of myself.”

It was a pretty insightful observation, likely Yellow’s contribution, even if he was rarely mentioned any more. Peter stroked Wade’s nape and shoulders, fingers dancing along ridges and grooves like reading Brail. “You’re neither of those things, that’s why we’ve talked about this so many times. And I’m not worried about afterwards, I’ve loved everything I seen so far. So what if I’m a little afraid? I’m obviously attracted to that part of you, or we wouldn’t be doing this. Aren’t you a little afraid of me? Of how I could hurt you?”

Wade squeezed his arm around Peter, and that was the only answer he needed. Eventually the older man ventured, “Tomorrow then?”

Peter had some classes, but actually planned to get off work early, so tomorrow was great. Plenty of time before going on patrol. “Yeah.”

Despite his anticipation, Peter fell asleep easily. 

! ^_^ !

His spider sense almost never triggered for Deadpool, and the following morning was no exception. The older man had probably been up for hours before Peter woke to his arms being bound tightly together with nylon rope. 

“Oh shit!” Peter shouted in shock, adrenaline spiking as he instinctively struggled. But then a heavy mass was straddling and sitting his ass, strong arms pinning his head and chest to the mattress. Peter could barely move, and it required him to take stock of the situation for a moment. . . Peter could see enough of his attacker’s naked skin to know it was Wade, and he could feel Ol’ Reliable against his ass and back. His initial shocked fear instantly transformed into excitement and he rubbed back against Wade in his renewed struggle. 

“Not now, Wade! I’ve got class!”

Wade wrestled him back down, using his weight and size to immobilize Peter as he manhandled his head. It took a moment for him to realize that Wade was forcing him into a Spiderman hood, which was both unnerving and arousing. Wade really wouldn’t be able to tell if something was wrong unless Peter told him. When the task was accomplished, Wade leaned forward and said in menacing voice, “Do I look like I give a shit? You can call me Wade if you want, but let me introduce myself anyway. I’m Mr. White. . . Which makes you Spidey.”

Well that was a disturbing name choice, and Peter felt a flicker of concern. But then Wade dragged blunt fingers down his taunt arms, pressing Spidey into the mattress with the bulk of his weight. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for a long time, Spidey. Your body calls to me.”

Wade crawled down Spidey’s prone form, until he was low enough to roughly grope Spidey’s ass, grip bordering on bruising as he kneaded and separated those firm cheeks. “Wade’s been going easy on you. But it’s my turn now. A fit, nubile body like yours can take a lot.” 

The threatening mood was contagious and Peter found it easy to whimper, “No. . .”

“Yes.” Then Wade moved around to Spidey’s side, roughly turning the bound man around to lay on his back, which was uncomfortable and awkward because of his restrained arms. Peter had to spread his legs and raise his hips up to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. Almost instantly, hard fingers were pinching his nipples, squeezing them harshly and twisting them a full 180 degrees. Peter gasped in pain and arousal, hips bucking even as his nipples were released, only for a fierce fist to take hold of his half hard cock, and Peter whined at the almost painful pressure. 

“You’re gonna have to hold this position until I say so. If you don’t, you will be punished. If you resist, you’ll definitely be punished, and then I’m going to do it to you anyway. Got that, Spidey?” 

Spidey nodded, and affirmed breathlessly, “Yes, Mr. White.”

“Excellent.” The hands disappeared, and Peter watched Wade reach under Peter’s pillow for something small and jangly. The older man had a strange expression on his face, a little blank around the eyes and an eerie, lopsided smirk. He looked downright disturbed, and Peter felt his first real thrill of fear as Wade held up the nipple clamps with both hands, pinching them open and closed ominously. Peter’s nubs tingled at the threat, and his cock throbbed.

Wade kneeled next to Peter then, and he dragged the cold metal chain along Peter’s cock, eliciting a little gasp, then continued up his happy trail and abs until the chain rested between his pecs. Then Wade grinned crazily at Peter, and he tensed in anticipation, before the rubber-padded clamps bit down hard on his nipples. 

“Shit!” Peter gasped loudly at the pain, erotic and so fantastic that his cock pulsed and dribbled a little. 

“Liked that, did you?” Wade chuckled, then he tugged lightly on the chain, tenting his nubs into little peaks that pulled away from his body, and Peter moaned, his entire pelvis thrusting up wantonly. “You have such sensitive tits, Spidey. I’ve wanted to do this to you forever.” 

Wade played with his nipples for another minute, pulling and twisting the clamps, before removing them. Peter inhaled sharply as the renewed blood flow increased his sensitivity, but then Wade roughly rubbed the abused nubs and again he was moaning and thrusting up into nothing. Finally, Wade circled his tongue around each dark, swollen nipple and reattached the clamps. It hurt more the second time, but still not enough. 

“Please, Mr. White,” Peter rasped dryly. “I need more.”

“Don’t worry, Spidey. There’s a lot more coming,” Wade promised, with just an edge of menace. Then the dry grip on his dick was back, and while a newly slick hand was pressed impatiently to Spidey’s entrance. 

“I’ve seen what a cockslut you are these days, you barely need any prep.” And just like that, Wade pushed two large fingers into Peter, who gasped at the sudden reckless stretch. But Whitey was right, he’d had Wade’s massive cock up there twice in the last twelve hours, and his hole took the digits easily. The novelty of the rough treatment was an enormous turn on though, as Wade had always shown enormous care and control in handing Peter. A moment later, a third intrusion screwed in and Peter moaned loudly, bucking hard into the tight fist around his cock, and back onto the thick fingers that were opening him wide. “Fuck. You’re so loose, letting us park our Suburban in your garage all the time. I wish I’d gotten a hold of you that first night, when you were still a virgin.” 

Then the fingers pulled out. “Oh well. A virgin wouldn’t survive the things I’m gonna do to you tonight. Cuz I’m gonna defile you, baby kink.”

“Please don’t, Mr. White,” Peter appealed, trying to find the rhythm of this game. He watched Wade reach under the pillow and retrieve the largest buttplug, diamond-shaped and stainless steel, then quickly lube it up. It filled Peter with almost as much anxiety as it did arousal. “I’m yours. You should take care of me.” 

“You’re the one who takes care of things, not me, Spidey,” Whitey taunted, maneuvering between Peter’s spread legs and raised hips so he could palm open a firm, flexed cheek. “I break things, especially my things. It’s why we can’t have anything nice.”

Spidey tensed reflexively at the feel of the cold metal on his hole, even though that was the wrong thing to do. Wade pushed the tip through his strong clench, then pushed further, slow but unyielding. Spidey struggled to relax around the invasion. It’s shape stretch him open quickly, and as the widest cross section worked past his distended rim, Spidey cried out, “Ahhh!” and then the rest of the large plug eased in. “Oh fuck!”

“There, Spideyslut.” Then Wade roughly twisted and tested the plug, to that it rubbed inside Peter’s channel and pulled on his rim, making him moan lightly. “That’ll keep you nice and ready for my cock. You might think you want it now, but you may change your mind before I’m done with you.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Spidey challenged. “I know you’d never hurt me,”

Wade surged up then climbed on top of the smaller man, forcing his hips down and grinding Peter’s bound arms together under their combined weight. This time Peter did cry out in pain. “Petey, Petey,” Whitey sing-songed through the mask, right over his ear. “You should know better than to challenge me.”

Then he straddled Spidey’s arched body, grinding his ass on Spidey’s dick even as he bent over to wrap a large hand around the covered neck. With the other arm he reached under the pillow again, and retrieved a thin, sharp knife. A real stab of terror jolted through Peter then, and he immediately started to struggle, only for the grip on his throat to tighten terrifyingly. But then the squeeze abruptly released, and Spidey understood that it was a warning that he might have to tap out to end this part. Despite his fear, Spidey also took it as evidence of some control. 

“Do you really trust me, Spidey?” Wade asked darkly, bringing the dagger to Spidey’s left breast. “A quick jab right here would kill you in a couple seconds. I’ve killed several people that way, never even bothered to count.” 

He pressed down then, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a white scratch line as he drug the tip down Spidey’s chests and ribs, eliciting a sharp hiss from Spidey. It was surprisingly easy to plead, despite the restricted airflow , “Please don’t kill me.” 

“Not til I’m done with you for sure.” Wade laughed loudly. “Where’s the fun and fight in fucking a corpse?”

Wade abruptly released Spidey’s neck, then maneuvered around on his knees, into a reverse cowgirl so to speak, straddling Spidey’s waist but facing his genitals. Peter, however, couldn’t see anything except the wide expanse of Wade’s back, which increased his anxiety and breathing rate. Surely Wade could be trusted around his junk, right? Even with a knife?

Spidey inhaled harshly when he felt a sharp tip stab lightly into in his knee, then drag down the softer skin of his inner thigh. “I want to mark you tonight, I just haven’t decided how.”

“No, Wade! Not like that!” Peter cried, mind flashing to the time Wade had stabbed his own hand. The knifepoint stopped just short of his delicate sack, paused ominously, and then relocated to the opposite knee, both of Peter’s legs now trembling. 

When the dagger scratched down the other thigh, and again came to rest by Spidey’s vulnerable sack, Wade took a second to twirl it around on its tip. “I could cut these off. I’m not going to breed you, and I can’t have you running off and slutting it up like a bitch in heat. My dog behaves.” 

Wade punctuated his words by grabbing at Spidey’s tight balls, rolling them roughly and tugging on them. Spidey’s cock swelled further, and yet it hurt and Wade’s words had Spidey struggling away from the cruel touch. Just then the hand was gone and Wade growled angrily, “What the fuck did I say about resisting?” 

Then Wade shoved Spidey violently to the side, tipping him over and then hauling him over by his restrained arms. Pushed into the mattress and bent over his knees, his legs were forced open, splaying his cheeks and exposing his stuffed hole. Gravity added the chain’s weight to the clamps, and harsh feeling flared back into his numb nipples. Peter didn’t even have to fake the whimper of fear when Wade said, “You’ve been bad, my sweet little cockslut.” 

Then a heavy palm hit an ass cheek with a resounding smack and Spidey grunted loudly. It hurt, likely bruised, and yet it had caused his hole to clench deliciously around large plug inside him. He cried out in both pain and arousal as a punishing second blow landed, closer to the intrusion and on the crease below one cheek. The third strike followed suit on the opposite side, just a little closer, eliciting another, weaker cry. His cheeks felt sensitive and heated, but who could focus on that when the thing shoved up his hole demanded so much attention? 

Expecting to be hit again, it was more of a shock when a callused hand caressed the raw flesh of his bottom, and Peter moaned helplessly in pleasure. Only then those blunt fingers curled and pinched the soft abused flesh, so close to the invading plug that his channel tightened around it, and he moaned again, beyond being embarrassed by all the noise he was making. A second, third, and fourth sharp tweak had his hips writhing and his hole agitating around the massive intrusion, his entire body aching for a real fucking, for something long and thick and hard to drag in and out of his stretched orifice. . .

The fourth spank was probably lighter than the first few, but landed right on the base of the plug, jabbing it in so sharply and unexpectedly that Spidey’s body seized violently and abruptly, cock erupting untouched where it was cocooned by his own body. 

Peter came back to awareness seconds later, crashing quickly after the endorphin rush but without the usual calm. He was still awkwardly curled over his knees, arms still restrained tightly and painfully at his back, with a giant plug base sticking out of his splayed and exposed hole; and Wade was chuckling manically right next to him. Immediately, he was flooded with renewed arousal and terror. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Wade sneered, lightly fondling and kneading Spidey’s tender and surely reddened buttocks. “What would Stark and Cap think if they could see you now? They’d think I’m abusing you, raping you, that I’m doing deviant, dirty things to you against your will. But we know the truth, and you’re too noble to lie. You’d have to tell them that you wanted it, that you wanted to be used and violated and treated like worthless drug whore.” 

“No. . .,” Spidey breathed, the imagined humiliation clenching his gut and twitching his spent prick.

Then Wade took the plug and rotated it, spinning friction through Spidey’s still sensitive channel. He couldn’t help but moan in wanton exhaustion, prompting Wade to taunt, “Is your insatiable hole up for more already?”

The appeal of more sex was undeniable, but Peter was wary of the prospect of more play, considering how freaky and disturbing things had already gotten. Surely it just got worse. . . or better, depending on his perspective? Peter tried to tread carefully with, “Whatever you want, Wade.”

“That’s damn right.” Another smack landed low on Spidey’s ass, making his hole clench around the plug and his body arch eagerly into the feeling. Only now, the intrusion felt bulky and uncomfortable, and his body wanted the unnatural thing out. It wanted to be fucked, hard and deep, by a real cock. 

When Wade struck his ass again, Peter couldn’t help crying out, “Oh, fuck. Please, Whitey, take it out! I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Mmm. . . if you’re gonna beg so pretty, how can I resist?” Then Wade eased the plug out, and Spidey moaned long and low as the wide circumference stretched his rim taunt then squeezed through. Then he moaned again as two blunt fingers began poking ungently at his loose rim. “You’re gaping open, my greedy cocksheath.”

Then Wade said something that made Peter’s blood run cold. “How beautiful your slutslit will look with my shiny new black Beretta sliding in and out.” 

Spidey’s mind blanked in fear and he burst into desperate motion then, kicking out and arching back and struggling against Wade and his bonds. “Hell no, Wade! Anything but that!” 

Spidey’s strength was fading, and with his arms still restrained (shoulders burning now), Wade easily pinned his entire body to the mattress, pressing his hard cock into the crease of Spidey’s ass. The full body pin allowed his brain to reboot, and Peter’s safe word was on the tip of his tongue as he waited for Wade’s next move. Wade bit at Spidey’s ear through the mask, then growled, “Anything? Hmmm. . . Well, I suppose I could save the Beretta for next time, my sweet slice of boycunt.”

That threat sent an intoxicating thrill of fear through Peter. Wade undulated his hips then, dragging his huge, hard cock through Spidey’s crack, across his loose rim, catching and stretching it. Peter’s voice was muffled in the bedding. “No, I’ll never let you do that to me.”

Wade thrust roughly between Spidey’s cheeks and barked out a mocking laugh, “You don’t get any say in this, Spidey.”

Then Wade shot off of Spidey, only to drag the younger man after him by his bound arms. Hauled to his feet, Peter found that he could barely stand, between his trembling legs, his aching hole, and his burning shoulders, even his clamped nipples hurt so much it no longer felt good. What had he let Wade do to him? He couldn’t fight off an attack now if he tried.

With his typical knack for good/awful timing, Wade brandished the forgotten dagger, but Spidey only had time for a flicker of fear before it disappeared behind him and freed his arms. His shoulders immediately hunched forward, and his hands cradling each other limply, his arms barely functional. Next Wade’s large arms circled him from behind and gently removed the nipple clamps. Peter cried out at the renewed feeling in his painful nubs. They looked reddish purple, slightly misshapen from the clamps, and Peter wanted desperately to soothe them, except that he could scarcely move his hands. As if reading his mind, Wade’s calloused fingers pressed firmly into the abused flesh and rubbed in rough circles that both relieved the hurt and promised more.

“Oh, Spidey, look at your nips. They look so painful,” Wade murmured in his ear, cock brushing up against his back. “You let me torture them, and now they’re sore and bruised. And still up for more.”

Spidey moaned at the words and sensation, but he was given less than a minute to recover and enjoy the attention before Wade stepped away from him to lube up his huge cock. Spidey’s prick was already swelling again, and his anticipation ratcheted up quickly. A moment later Wade reached under the pillow for something, and then was back, pulling on Spidey’s aching shoulder, and guiding his unsteady body towards the cracked window. Spidey glanced briefly through the glass, then at Wade in confusion. Wade gave him a challenging look, with just a hint of a smirk, and then showed him what was in his hand: the ball gag that Spidey had thrown away weeks ago. The black rubber ball had been removed from the straps, but Spidey could still make out the teeth marks. Wade must’ve gone through the garbage to retrieve it. 

Peter didn’t know what to make of Wade’s apparent attachment to the gag, or how to respond to Wade’s challenge. He didn’t like the thing, specifically because of how it had been used on his lover, which Wade likely knew, and yet here he was trying to put Peter in the same position. Or was it the same? Without the straps, the ball was basically optional, and Peter could still safe word out if necessary. Peter suddenly felt his confusion acutely, brain already sluggish from the sex and the pain, and now reeling from the gag and all the fucked up shit that he’d let happen. Is this what Wade felt when Peter messed with him during sex? 

Wade was apparently done waiting, so he reached up with both hands, ball in one palm as he slid Spidey’s mask up just over his nose. Then he brought the ball to Spidey’s lips, and somehow it was easy to do what he was supposed to: shut up and obey, open his mouth wide and accept the rubber gag, and just trust Wade with his body, his heart, his mind. Perhaps Wade did understand what he was asking with the gag, because the crazed expression on his face now straddled adoration and pure carnal craving, and Spidey couldn’t look away. Being the focus of such intense attention and desire was instantly addictive.

Wade flashed a small smile, looking more like himself for a brief moment, and then moved toward the window. Spidey watched the man open the window in confusion, but then his questions were answered when Wade manhandled him into bending over, chest resting painfully on the window sill and head fully out the window (because, of course, Deadpool didn’t have screens). Peter was completely fucked in the head at this point. Again, he wanted to object, but the impulse felt wrong and submission just so right. Spidey’s weak arms could barely hold him up on the hard purchase, but Wade wasted no time in grabbing his hips with a punishing grip and then forcing him back on that huge, demanding cock with a speed that both unfamiliar and terrifying.

“No, Wade, stop!” Spidey cried out at the massive member pierced his entrance, stretching in and up his clenching, defensive channel. “Oh, fuck, stop! It hurts!” 

Except that the ball gag was stuffed in his mouth and all that came out was a distressed, muffled wail. 

It did hurt, like it hadn’t hurt since the first time, but the pain inflamed his hole and jolted up through his prick, making it swell back to its full length. Wade ignored his pleas completely, responding coarsely, “You stop your whining, Spidey. I know your sweet boycunt can take more than this.”

Wade didn’t get very far before resistance forced him to pull out, too fast and rough for such a giant cock, and Peter groaned. Then the huge intrusion was shoving its way back in, this time rutting farther and farther in with powerful microthrusts that leaned Peter’s whole body forward. With his arms barely able to hold on to the windowsill, his chest knocked painfully into the hard wood. Torn between overwhelming pleasure and pain, Peter’s eyes struggled to focus on the buildings around theirs, on the street a dozen floors down, on anyone who might be watching his complete and utter possession. 

“Yeah, take it, my lovely little cockslut. This is exactly where you belong, at my mercy! And now the whole world can see how much Spiderman loves getting fucked!” Wade thrust harder, and pushed in all the way to the hilt, stretching Spidey so fantastically wide and open that he moaned and drooled around the rubber ball. His whole body undulated deliciously around the massive intrusion, held in deep by Wade’s bruising fingers on his hips.

“You think you have the power in this relationship? You think you’re gonna change Wade, fix him, save him?” Whitey taunted, suddenly quiet as he leaned over Spidey’s back, his breath ghosting over Spidey’s covered ear. “Wade’s mine, and I can afford to play a long game, cuz I’m not going anywhere. Right now, it looks like you’re the one being molded into a sex slave, not me. You’re exactly where I want you, exactly where you’ll stay.”

Then Wade pulled out and lunged back in, only for Spidey to spread open and accept his giant cock. After a couple more erratic thrusts, they found a perfect rhythm, deep long strokes in followed by rough exits, allowing them to keep at it for long minutes. If he had any brainpower, Spidey would’ve been horrified at the image he was presenting – Spiderman gagged and being fucked out of the thirteenth story window – but all his mental energy was exhausted rationalizing that no one would possibly see them so high up. Not when it felt so good, not when he was powerless to resist or do anything but hold on for dear life and get fucked like he was born to it.

The steady pounding kept up, on and on, until Spidey couldn’t take it anymore. He was so turned on, the humiliation of his situation just making him harder. He wanted more, wanted to beg for more, but all he could do was use his shaking arms to push back on Wade’s cock, while Wade continued to slide leisurely in and out of his backdoor. 

“Beg for it, Spidey. I wanna hear you moaning and chocking like an invalid, like you have brain damage. Cuz that wouldn’t stop me, you know.” Peter moaned piteously at Wade’s horrible words, drool leaking out between his clenched teeth and down his chin. “You’d still be mine, to keep, to abuse, to sodomize daily. I’d keep you locked up in this apartment, naked and stupid, and screw you out the window for all to see. How the great Spiderman became Deadpool’s fuck toy!”

Wade picked up speed for a few thrusts, then slammed in hard, making Spidey cry out wantonly and drop the ball thirteen stories. “You’re mine,” Wade claimed possessively, almost childishly. “To fuck and break and love how I want!” 

Finally Wade started hammering Spidey’s hole in earnest, each lunge slamming Peter’s chest against the windowsill as weak arms failed to brace his violently swaying body. The hard bangs blended with the echo of Peter’s sharp grunts and the rhythm of slapping flesh to sound out a primal tattoo. A dull ache bounced back and forth between his hole and his chest, just as an inflaming pleasure ricocheted between his hole and his swollen dick. It was altogether too much discomfort to push him over the edge completely, instead forcing him to dangle precipitously close to climax as Wade fucked him tirelessly.

“Tell me you’re mine, Petey,” Wade requested suddenly, sounding more like his usual self and his lunges growing erratic as he neared orgasm. “Please. Tell me you’re mine.”

It was the Please that made the difference between a performance and honesty, and Peter wanted nothing more than to tell him what he needed to hear. “I’m yours, Wade. Your cockslut, your boycunt, your sex slave,” Spidey gasped out between the powerful, dominating thrusts. “I’m yours to fuck and break however you want.”

Wade slammed in a couple more times, and then was cumming with a loud, long groan, half-collapsing on top of Spidey so that the windowsill supported them both. A few seconds later, soft cock still resting deep inside Spidey, Wade nosed his neck and panted quietly, “Love. . . Mine to fuck and break and love. I love my broken things.”

Wade pulled Spidey vertical, so that they stood together with Spidey’s back resting heavily against Wade’s chest. Spidey could feel cum oozing down Wade’s soft cock and out of his slick hole, only to dribble down his thighs. Then Wade gently wrapped a calloused palm around Spidey’s swollen dick, and Spidey moaned happily when he started jacking him. The lines between reality and the game seemed to blur further as Peter asked hopefully, a little dreamily, “Do you love me, Mr. White?” 

The hand on Spidey’s chest moved up to the hood, and then without warning, Wade was dragging it off and mouthing up Peter’s sweaty neck. “We all love you, Spidey. If we could, we’d keep you like this forever.”

Wade was stripping Peter’s cock harder now, and Peter felt the wave of intense pleasure coming in slow motion, radiating from his dick, down through his clenching channel and crashing though his body gradually and peaking repeatedly before finally fading away. “Unnh-ungh-ahhh!” 

. . . It took much longer for Peter to regain awareness the second time. When he did, Wade was supporting virtually all of his weight, holding him tightly around the chest and ribs. His sore hole was achingly empty, though still dripping, and there appeared to be an impressive spray of cum on the raised glass pane. He was too drained to be either amused or horrified at the fact that he must’ve shot at least some jizz straight out the thirteenth story window.

Peter regained his balance even as Wade helped him back into bed. He couldn’t help wincing as he sat on his tender ass, then quickly lay on his side to take the pressure off of it. It was only mid morning, but his body felt like he’d both run a marathon and taken a beating. Wade smirked at him, then reached under Peter’s pillow and very deliberately brandished the fire hydrant.

Oh fuck! Peter startled a little, suddenly tense and definitely not up for that. “You’re not going to sleep yet, baby boy,” Wade taunted, sounding extra evil. “Did you think I was done with you? I’m the goddamn Energizer Bunny, I can keep going and going and going. This one time, in band camp, I came fourteen times in six hours!" 

What?! That imagery was both horrifying and exhausting, so when Wade laid a possessive hand on Peter’s leg, Peter blurted, “Hell no! Oxygen! I’m out, you win!” 

Wade stopped immediately, pulled a clownishly sad face, and then pretended to mourn the rubber monstrosity for a second before carelessly tossing it to the side. Finally he curled up facing Peter, clearly telegraphing his slower moves. “Are you okay?”

The contrasting behavior was reassuring, and Peter swallowed dryly and nodded, then pulled Wade closer for a trembling kiss. Wade was soothingly gentle, his tongue caressing and licking languidly into Peter’s mouth until the younger man gradually felt safer, stronger, cared for. They made out for a long time before Wade drew back to gaze adoringly at Peter. He didn’t really seem so disturbed anymore, and yet there was a still faint look to the eyes, a slight curl to the lip suggestive of Whitey. Peter stroked the tough face from temple to cheek, before Wade ducked shyly to nose at his jaw, his ear, his neck. Soon Peter’s eyes were drooping against his will, and he resigned himself to a nap before heading to his afternoon classes at least. 

“Can I suck you while you fall asleep?” Wade murmured hopefully in his ear. “I don’t wanna just watch right now.”

Peter wasn’t sure it was even possible to fall asleep with his dick in someone’s mouth, even if that dick was completely soft at the moment. Still, it sounded sexy, and a lazy, jolt of arousal tingled through him. He parted his legs in invitation. “Yes, please.”

Wade curled up between Peter’s splayed legs, like a giant, affectionate dog, and rested his head on Peter’s hip. Peter closed his eyes as Wade began licking and slowly washing Peter’s soft member with his warm tongue. It felt amazing, soothing and relaxing, with just a slight edge of anticipation. Peter’s hand moved to rest gently on Wade’s scarred neck and the older man started making a happy humming sound. It didn’t take very long at all to drift off into a light, endorphin-soaked doze. . .

A jolt of pleasure woke Peter an undetermined amount of time later, and he found himself hard as a rock and already approaching climax. Wade had swallowed him deep, throat constricting around his cock, and it was all a bit of a shock. “Waaade!” 

His boyfriend eased off then, and crawled up his body, pressing their hard cocks together even as he grinned messily in Peter’s face. “You’re awake!”

Then Wade was kissing him wetly, and Peter couldn’t help but respond to the enthusiasm. A moment later, a large hand wrapped their dicks together and started stroking them fast and firm, their bodies arching to the tempo. It only took a couple minutes for Wade’s rhythm to fail, and then he was groaning and shooting hot cum up Peter’s abs and chest. The single strong arm that had been supporting him finally gave out, but Wade managed to collapse beside Peter, and within seconds he had rearranged himself and was reaching for Peter’s cock. Peter only watched that wide hand fist his cock a couple dozen times before he was bucking up roughly, flexing in pleasure, and cumming yet again. 

He didn’t black out so much as languidly come down the other side, loose-limbed and content. Until he realized how dirty he was. “Oh, hell no. There’s literally a pool of cum on my stomach.”

“You’ve never looked better,” Wade complemented with a cheeky smile. Peter looked up from the jizzpool to Wade’s happy face, and was pleased to find it completely familiar. Peter tugged him closer and they shared a brief kiss before Peter was rolling away and limping towards the shower. To his embarrassment, he was literally dripping cum from both sides.

He didn’t even wait for the water to warm, figuring a little chill would help revitalize him for his classes. The fluids washed away quickly, leaving only the finger-shaped bruises on his hips and ass. The marks gave him a little thrill, and along with his sore nipples and the ache in his entrance, reminded him of the both deliciously and terrifyingly rough treatment he’d been subjected to.

A couple minutes later he was lathering his hair and body when he heard Wade come in and stand on the other side of the shower curtain. “So how do you feel?” Wade tried and failed to ask offhandedly. “Now that a dirty old man has kept you hostage for hours, subjecting your eager young body to an endless parade of kinky, depraved acts.”

It sounded titillating, put that way, but the deep voice also sounded concerned. Peter recognized that there’d been several times that he’d been hurt, frightened, even disturbed during their protracted play, but it was too easy to glance over those instances now that they were over. He really needed more time to process recent events in order to give a more insightful response, and all Peter could manage on short notice was some simple honesty, “Like I wanted it. And asked for it. Like it was some of the hottest sex we’ve ever had. Which is saying a lot.”

Wade was silent then, and Peter could make out his still outline through the shower curtain. He reached around the edge and took his arm, dripping everywhere. “Hey you, get in here.”

Wade ducked through the curtain immediately, though they both knew he generally preferred to shower and attend to his body alone. This time, Peter drew them together quickly to look into Wade’s eyes and study his now waterlogged expression. “How do you feel?”

“Like there’s nothing I could do, nothing depraved enough to sully or corrupt you. You’re unbreakable.” Wade avoided his gaze but watched his fingers run gingerly over Peter’s wet shoulders and down his arms.

“I don’t know about all that,” Peter returned with a small smile. He used the rare opportunity to stroke up and down Wade’s naked torso, growing pensive in the warm water. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course,” Wade granted easily, though he had to suspect where this would lead.

“Mr. White. What was that? And it’d be kinda nice if you skipped the obligatory bad lie.”

“You asshole!” Wade accused melodramatically. “The writer says that the bad lie is a psychological crutch for telling uncomfortable truths while maintaining ego integrity!”

“That’s probably true,” Peter granted kindly. “But, Wade, you gotta know what I’m asking. How much of that was Whitey? How much control did you have over him?” 

“That was almost all Whitey. I basically let him have free reign, though Yellow and I diverted him a couple times when we thought he might go too far. But I coulda stepped in at any time.” Then Wade ducked his head down and away, but he didn’t step back and quarters were too close to really conceal his face. “The boxes are just disassociated parts of me, not, like, completely separate personalities. At least, that’s what the shrinks have said.” 

Wade glanced up a Peter, who nodded and smiled gently in encouragement. It was rare that Wade opened up about his mental health, and Peter was frankly a little fascinated by the boxes. Wade averted his gaze again before continuing, “I know you like Whitey better, cuz it seems like he’s happy and horny all the time, and he doesn’t berate us and shit. But, really, he’s the one you gotta look out for. He’s the trigger-happy pervert that likes pain and explosions and chaos. And he’s not gonna learn or change, cuz he doesn’t remember much.”

“Yeah, I kinda got most of that. . .” Under the spray, Peter took Wade’s hands in his, then looked down at them to take the scrutiny off Wade’s embarrassment. “I barely notice you talking to them anymore. Do you still hear them as much?”

Wade did try to cringe away then, but Peter held his arms firmly and didn’t allow the retreat. Finally, his boyfriend admitted timidly, “Yes. . . As much as ever, really.”

So Wade was passing better, but not actually experiencing a miraculous mental recovery in terms of the boxes. Peter had suspected, but he’d also recognized and valued other signs of improvement: fewer anxiety attacks and an end (mostly) to the suiciding; better self care, covering everything from hygiene to safety; and also significantly less time spent alone, as well as less time spent hiding in a full-body leather costume. Indeed, the fact that Pool could pass better was already a positive sign. Maybe the boxes were simply here to stay. 

“Hey, don’t feel bad about it. I don’t mind putting out for Mr. White, or even Mr. Yellow if he wants a piece of the action,” Peter teased and bumped their noses together, trying to get the older man to look at him. “I won’t deny that Whitey was a little terrifying, but that’s what I signed up for. That’s half the reason I came so hard I blacked out, not once but twice!” 

“He’s a creepy, crazy cocksucker that must be kept in check,” Wade stated coldly, sounding like he was scolding himself. Was he echoing Yellow’s words? 

“A creepy, crazy cocksucker who said he loves me,” Peter volleyed back immediately.

Wade finally met his gaze, shy but determined. “He does love you. We all do.” 

Peter tried to convey his own earnestness. “I’ve told you this before, but you don’t have to hide from me. Not your skin or the boxes; not what you want, or don’t want, or what happened to you. It’s all part of you, and I love all of you.”

“The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly?” Wade fished with a little smile.

Peter reached for the shampoo, squirted some into his hand, and then worked it into a lather. “That’s movie’s a classic for a reason.”

Then he reached up and gently rubbed the suds into Wade’s hairless scalp; after an uncertain moment, his boyfriend closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Peter’s fingers lightly traced the bubbles as they cascaded down the pocked neck, scarred shoulders, and motley torso, traveling the grooves and ridges like highways across the strong body. Soon Wade’s hands were soothing down Peter’s ribs to ghost over the finger-shaped bruises on his hips, then tracing up his abs to brush over tender, darkened nipples. 

“You look amazing like this,” Wade murmured. “All marked up and ill-treated like a favorite toy.”

“Like your favorite toy.” Peter shuffled even closer so their bodies bumped and slid together. He kinda doubted that he’d be able to get it up again so soon, but Wade’s member was already stirring again, if slowly.

“Yes. Definitely mine.” Wade agreed, then brought their lips together to start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: BDSM. Rough sex, bondage, spanking, knife play, exhibitionism, and potentially disturbing dirty talk. Really, Wade scares Peter more than he actually hurts him. Sorry if this is a bit much for some readers, but remember that Peter is exploring his limits.


	5. Chapter 5

A few days later, Peter evidently felt the need to revisit the shower conversation. They were cuddled up on the couch, and it was late enough that Peter had abandoned his laptop in favor of lying down with his head pillowed in Pool’s lap. Pool was spacing out to Golden Girls reruns when Peter reached up to caress his cheek through the spandex mask. 

Pool stirred, then looked down at his boyfriend, pleasantly surprised. He wondered if the splendid novelty of having someone to just be with would ever wear off. “Hey there. Surely you’re not bored of the old broads already?”

“Never,” Peter teased, smiling for a second before turning more pensive. “But there has been something on my mind for the last few days. . . Since our talk bout the boxes.”

[I bet he wants a date with Mr. White again! Crack that whip!]

[[I’m putting my money on him suggesting we go to a psychiatrist. Cuz that worked out so well last time.]]

Pool’s pulse picked up slightly, but he’d slowly gotten better at not overreacting to every attempt Peter made at a serious conversation, generally trusting that his boyfriend would take care of him through any triggering topics. Still, his fingers moved to card through Peter’s hair in an act that comforted them both. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

Peter was silent for a heavy moment, brow creased just slightly and so adorably. “You were sorta right when you said that I preferred Whitey. Though it’s more like I used to think of Whitey as the nice, happy box, and Yellow as the mean, angry one. But now I don’t think that was a fair assessment. They both have strengths, and weaknesses, right? And they complement each other to make you a complete person.”

[Heehee! I’m the nice one, nanny-nanny-nanna! And the sexy one, don’t forget!]

[[Oh fuck off. Peter doesn’t have to like me, I serve my purpose.]]

Peter’s summary was a bit of an oversimplification, but close enough, so Pool nodded warily, and Peter continued, “And Yellow is the voice of reason, yeah? The one who remembers everything.”

“Not everything, but yeah, for the most part.” He struggled to guess where this was going.

“I want to meet him,” Peter stated with intimidating surety, and Pool tensed immediately.

[[Absolutely not! He just wants the gory details of our sob story, and reliving that shit for public consumption is very Not Okay.]]

Despite his discomfort with the idea, Pool hesitated to deny his lover anything, so he prevaricated instead, “You’ve already met him a few times.”

Peter’s eyes flitted back and forth as he thoughtfully scanned Pool’s mask, and Wade knew he was wishing he could see his face. Pool probably would’ve obliged under different circumstances, but he already felt exposed enough in this conversation. “Okay, I’m stumped,” Peter admitted after a pensive pause. “When was this?”

Pool rolled his eyes, cuz it seemed pretty obvious to him. Peter understood him better than anyone else ever had, even before he’d turned into such a basketcase, yet even he failed to put the pieces together right sometimes. “Who do you think cried during sex? Then needed to be held after? He doesn’t really get the whole fucking aspect, usually takes the backseat then, but he’s good for a chick flick moment. ”

[Ha-ha! Who’s a big cry baby, hunh? A whimpering pussy boy?]

[[Fuck. You. All. How’d you like to relive our worst fears and memories while having your prostate pummeled?! Oh wait, YOU CAN’T FUCKING REMEMBER, you worthless amnesiac!]]

Peter sat up quickly at Pool’s words, possibly alarmed and definitely frowning as he tried to see Wade. Grabbing the rough hand hard, he pleaded, “I sorta get why you don’t want to, but can you take the mask off for this? Please?”

Pool reluctantly reached up with his free hand and pulled off the mask, meeting Peter’s gaze as he exposed his hideous face. He couldn’t say exactly why his stomach felt so tense, or what Peter was looking so intently for in his eyes. 

“I don’t like Whitey better,” Peter assured passionately. “I can’t deny that your chaotic, happy-go-lucky side is more fun and exciting, and probably keeps you from being too depressed to get out of bed in the morning. But without Yellow, maybe you really would be a psychopath.”

[A definite possibility.]

Wade tried to look away, feeling a chasm of pain open up within him, but Peter dropped his hand in favor of placing both palms on Wade’s cheeks and gently turning his face back to his. “You’re not a psychopath, Wade, I know that. I know because of how selflessly you love me, and how you care about what kind of jobs you take, and how you hurt sometimes when people treat you like crap. . . You’ve been through more than anyone should ever have to, it’s only human that a part of you is hurt and angry. Those times with Yellow, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as close to you as I did then. . . What I’m trying to say is that maybe it’s like how they say it is when you have kids: I love both parts of you, differently but without loving one more than another. I adore the entire package.”

[Aw, Peter. You know we adore you too. Sniffle sniffle.]

Only then did Peter drop his palms from Wade’s face, but immediately leaned closer for a tender, chaste kiss on the lips, before pulling back slowly to smile gently at him. Wade found himself magnificently overwhelmed by the blinding smile, as much as he was by the touching words, and was only a little embarrassed when a lone tear streaked down his cheek. It simply wasn’t fair that all he’d never be able to give Peter such a beautiful look, or offer him such poetic, convincing declarations of love. 

“No one has ever said such wonderful things to me,” Wade admitted quietly, joining their hands again and forcing himself to maintain the intense eye contact. “Or told me they loved me in such a way that I really believed them. At least not since my mom. . .” The heartbreaking thought of his mother suddenly unlocked the gates of his memory, allowing him to access the feelings and words that he wanted to convey. 

Wade’s eyes dropped as he traveled back in time. “Some nights, usually after good ol’ dad had knocked her around, she’d read me this beat up copy of the Velveteen Rabbit. Then when she died, and dad started knocking me around, I read it to myself, over and over, pretending she was there to love and protect me. . .”

Wade glanced up then to ask, cuz for some reason the answer seemed important, “Have you read it?” 

Peter shook his head, so Wade explained, “It’s about a beloved toy that becomes a real animal through the strength of a child’s love.” Then he closed his eyes, trying to remember the words of his childhood, though he’d put them behind him as surely as everything else that meant enough to hurt. His voice took on an unusually calm cadence as Yellow began to recite the words from memory, “‘Real isn't how you’re made, it's a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real. Sometimes it hurts, but when you’re Real you don't mind being hurt. . .

“It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. . . Generally, by the time you’re Real, most of your hair has been loved off, an’ your eyes drop out an’ you get loose in your joints an’ very shabby.” Wade’s voice broke a little on the last word, but he pushed on, “But these things don't matter, cuz once you’re Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. And once you’re Real you can't become unreal again. . . It lasts for always.’"

The words seemed to apply even more now than they had back then, though Wade had felt bruised and shabby and ugly even as kid. When he finally opened his eyes, he realized that he was truly crying now, and that Peter was watching him with such love and understanding that he surely recognized who he was listening too. Wade quickly tried to wipe his eyes, but not before Peter could wrap his arms around him so tight, and pull him so close that he could barely move. Pressing their cheeks together, Peter assured, “It’s okay to cry sometimes, love. I know it hurts.”

Which, of course, only made Wade cry harder. Between muffled sobs, he managed to say what Peter deserved to hear, “You’ve brought me back to life, Peter, only this time I’m Real. . . It’s been so long.” 

Peter held him like that for a long time, even after the tears dried up.

! ^_^ !

Deadpool absolutely adored the idea of teaching his boyfriend to shoot. In fact, as soon as Peter suggested it, he completely took over the planning and execution. After all, he was the one who knew everything there was to know about guns, and who owned a shit ton of them. And while Peter’s whole shooting range fantasy (surely derived from too many cop movies) would’ve been fun, Deadpool had something even better in mind. Just thinking about it filled him with excitement and anticipation. 

The hardest part, predictably, proved to be convincing Spidey to take a break for a couple days to come away with him overnight. 

“Just twenty four hours, maybe thirty, it’ll be amazing, I promise. I own some property upstate, just a few hours’ drive. It’s perfect for shooting, all remote and isolated, so no one’s in our business. Plus, beautiful wilderness and all that, so it’s like a romantic getaway,” Pool presented logically, trying hard to keep his hope and enthusiasm in check. “If we rent a truck, we can put my old mattress in the back, then, like, you know, make love under the actual stars and shit. I can even get you back on Sunday in time for you to do homework and patrol.” 

Then he stuffed a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth to shut himself up. His mask was rolled up like a sock cap, which was pretty typical these days while eating at home; though they were sitting at the table, which was much more of a novelty. Usually dinner was eaten on the couch, but the spaghetti and meatballs really required more than that. Peter looked tempted by Pool’s proposition, but still objected, “Saturday nights have the highest crime, it’d be irresponsible to leave then.” 

[LAME-O. Spidey doesn’t know what he’s arguing against, or he’d be all for this.]

[[Keep cool, Pool! I know we really want this, and there’s a way to get it if we just rub a couple brain cells together.]]

Then Pool whipped out his phone and shot off a quick text to Hawkeye. They’d played Call of Duty a few times in the past couple weeks, remotely of course, but nothing compares to the bond of brotherhood established through open mikes and digitized warfare. At this point Hawkeye knew more about Deadpool’s plans than Spidey did. 

((City needs babysitter on sat, or sm wont come. Can u or k8 help?))

“Do I even want to know?” Peter inquired around a mouthful of food.

“Try’na find someone to fill in for you. Then you could come, right?” 

Peter swallowed, then frowned pissily. “Maybe. Who?”

Pool chewed with deliberate thoroughness for a moment, as he bought time until his phone vibrated, legs bouncing in anticipation. He smirked when he finally read the message. ((We got u covered))

[Say no to that, Spidey! This is gonna ROCK!]

“Are the two Hawkeyes good enough for you? They’ve agreed to babysit.”

Peter flushed and scowled a little at the mocking undercurrent, then conceded with bad grace, “Fine.” 

[[Great, now it sounds like he doesn’t want to go at all. How do we always end up fucking everything up?!]]

It was Wade’s turn to frown, a little thrown by Peter’s resistance and now petulance. His fantasies did not include a reluctant or put upon lover (not in actuality), and he felt suddenly miserable and lonely at the thought of being stuck somewhere with someone who did not want to be there with him. As easy as it was to identify the triggering thought, Wade figured that he should’ve been able to resist the manic upswing that followed in its wake – except that his troubled thoughts always seemed to travel so inevitably down the well-trodden path of self-doubt.

“But maybe a shooting range would be better. I’ll get some suspicious looks, just to warn yuh, but it’s not like those trigger happy douches can do anything permanent, amirite? The range won’t let us use any of the heavy artillery, but who cares? You’re probably only interested in handguns anyway. . . In fact, I’ve got a couple silencers we could use. I could show you the basics in the other apartment, the walls can handle it. Pew pew pew! Plaster flying everywhere like the Matrix!”

[[Jeez, brah, PMS much? You can’t even blame this one on me.]]

Just like that, Wade, who’d quickly turned the suggested date into a great “romantic getaway”, downgraded the whole shebang into something else they could hide inside, away from prying eyes. Peter also seemed a little surprised at the speed of the shift, if his wide eyes and downturned lips were anything to go by. 

“I’m sorry!” they blurted simultaneously, only to both startle a little comically. 

“No no, I’m sorry,” Wade barreled on first. “I’m acting completely bipolar, I can tell. I’m way too hooked on this stupid idea, when the shooting range would be easier. No reason to tank everything and shoot up the building. That would be really be crazy with a capital C.” He had to break eye contact at the C word, since of course he’d shot at the walls plenty of times in the past. Then, cuz it was one of his mantras, he added nervously, “I should think about what you want.”

Peter’s expression looked even worse as he took his turn to apologize, and Wade felt Peter’s foot brush against his calf under the table. “No, Wade, I’m the one who should apologize. You’re trying to do something special and fun, and you have every right to be excited about it. And I’m sure it’s gonna be great, that’s why I agreed. I’m just the one stressing out this time. The idea of leaving the City is actually giving me anxiety. I know the world goes on without me, but I can’t help thinking, what if something bad happens and I’m not here?” 

Wade nodded solemnly, grateful that Peter was opening up to him. It was always such a challenge to understand the Other, but this explanation at least offered some points of familiarity. He looked up to meet Peter’s gaze and offered truthfully, “That’s how I feel whenever I leave you.”

[[Perfect delivery! I told you we could do it!]]

[BINGO! I bet Spidey is creaming his pants under the table!]

Indeed, they must’ve been some of the most perfect words ever uttered, cuz Whitey wasn’t wrong. Spidey’s mood improved dramatically, and after a round of vigorous, life-affirming sex, they were both looking forward to getting away that weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short. Originally this sequel ended with the Velveteen Rabbit, but then I realized that there's one more thing I need to do before I trust the boys to their own devices. The final chapter is definitely longer, but needs a little work so will probably be posted over the weekend. Thanks for sticking with me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for extreme sappiness.

That Saturday Deadpool rented a truck, which they loaded up with the old mattress, food and camping supplies (including two new sleeping bags), and a small arsenal. They passed a pleasant drive north, singing to the radio and talking smack for hours, as the scenery gradually transitioned to breathtaking. Peter felt like an idiot for ever having resisted, cuz Wade was right, this was going to be amazing. All the weights and obligations of his life seemed to fall away as they left civilization behind.

Turned out Wade Winston Wilson owned fifty acres of mostly forested land, in the middle of nowhere as promised. They drove up a dirt road through the property until they came to a large, artificial clearing. Eager to stretch after hours on the road, Peter jumped out immediately, taking several steps before he realized that he was standing in some kind of practice field. There were various targets set up, including several dummies and a couple makeshift structures, though everything (including the ground) was littered with scorch marks, bullet holes, and various other damage.

“You didn’t say that you already have a shooting range set up here, but I probably shoulda guessed.”

Pool shrugged, hands on his hips and looking around with tangible satisfaction. “I gotta have someplace to try out the new hardware. Though usually I come up here for practice runs with a new batch of explosives. Precision can be tricky, and all the calculations in the world can only tell you so much. Sometimes blowing shit up is the only way to know for sure.”

Deadpool had dressed the part by wearing standard army camo fatigues, paired with his soft red mask. Now though, he took off the hood and replaced it with the black ski mask Stark had supplied him with months ago. Then he dug through one of the duffle bags and retrieved one of his favorites, the AK-47, completing his freedom-fighter-or-terrorist look. Finally, he stalked up to Peter with a wide grin, like he was going to eat him for breakfast. “I’m gonna do a perimeter check. Gotta make sure no one’s been trespassing.”

Peter was feeling kinda wimpy in his skinny jeans and windbreaker, so he poked back, “Just don’t overkill anyone you find. I’m sure you can school a couple teenagers without using the machine gun.”

Deadpool chuckled as he took off at an enthusiastic jog, clearly comfortable in this rugged environment, and called over his shoulder, “Should I bag us a Bambi to bring home?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Peter occupied himself by unloading the truck, if only so that they could actually sleep on the mattress in the truck bed. When he noticed a fire pit nearby, he collected wood for later. Finally, he lay down on the old mattress and just gazed up at the sky and trees, listening to the quiet sound of the wind rustling through leaves. There was nothing to do, no place to be, no one to bother them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed, at least not without having recently cum. After the long drive, it was easy to drift off. 

A deafening BANG! woke him suddenly, adrenaline pumping as reflexes had him scrambling to peer over the side of the truck bed. The source of the sound was immediately obvious. About twenty five yards away, Deadpool lay on his front in the dirt, taking aim with a large rifle that had been set up on a short tripod. Another loud shot rang out, and Peter saw a plume of dust appear almost instantly in the distance, maybe a hundred yards away? Peter couldn’t see what Pool was aiming at, but he was definitely intrigued, so he jumped out of the truck and headed in that direction. 

Peter spared a moment of attention to note that the other man was apparently shooting at chunks of concrete, presumably the remnants of some larger instance of destruction. However, as he came up behind Pool, Peter was much more interested in the sight directly before him: strong and steady shoulders, a trim and tapered waist, an ass that looked amazing in the army fatigues, and muscular thighs that splayed slightly (all the sexier for being unintentional). Like this, it was easy to picture a young Wade in the army, before all the horrors of Weapon X.

Peter nudge Pool’s combat boot, not wanting to startle him. Pool turned his head just long enough to grin at him, then turned to the duffle bag resting next to him. He rummaged around for a moment before retrieving a set of ear protection muffs that matched his own and dropped them on the ground next to him. Peter took this as an invitation, so he laid down in the dirt, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, then settled the protection over his ears. Pool continued to smile widely at him, squinting eyes and stretched lips temptingly visible through the holes in the ski mask, and Peter couldn’t resist leaning in for a quick, passionate kiss.

Pool shifted over in the dirt, barely making enough room for Peter to position himself directly behind the large rifle. Pool pointed out a couple things on the weapon, and then helped Peter arrange his arms and shoulders the right way. 

“Then you just take aim through the scope, brace the butt against your shoulder, and pull the trigger,” he directed loudly, half-deaf from the ear protection.

Peter frowned in concentration, and tried to follow directions, but when he pulled the trigger, the deafening BANG! was accompanied by a sudden and bruising blow to the shoulder. “Holy shit! Ow!” 

Pool rolled his eyes, now trying to hide his grin. “That was the recoil, and the reason I told you to brace the weapon against your shoulder.”

Peter wasn’t much interested in trying again, and moved to get up, only for Pool to swing a leg over both of his, knees bracing his weight as he draped his body on Peter’s, his chin hooking over Peter’s shoulder. “Here, let me show you.”

The position reminded Peter distinctly of the time, during the bunny invasion, when Pool had shoved Peter to ground and used his body to protect the younger man from the gas explosion. Except now he could feel Pool’s hard prick nestled into the butt of his jeans, and it combined deliciously with the heavy weight pressing down on him, more or less to the rhythm of his breathing. Any pretense of learning was mostly gone as he arched back into Pool and teased huskily, “Were you having a good time shooting off by yourself?”

“I can’t help it. Big guns make Whitey super horny,” Pool admitted with a chuckle. His attention, however, was still on the rifle as he wrapped his arms strategically around Peter and positioned their hands back on the large weapon. His voice was muffled by the ear muffs, but was still sexy when Pool practically growled, “Can you feel its raw power?”

Peter could feel Deadpool’s strength surrounding and covering him, just as deadly as any weapon, so he nodded obligingly. Then all those hard muscles coiled tight in anticipation, and their index fingers pulled the trigger. BANG! 

This time the butt of the rifle was cushioned against the meat of Peter’s shoulder, and instead of a painful blow, the recoil physically jolted through them both as its force was redistributed. Ears ringing and body reeling, Peter could indeed feel the sheer power, and it made him inhale sharply in arousal. Deadpool gave him a few seconds to recoup before he was lining up his sights again, and BANG!

Now that Peter knew what to expect, there was no missing the way their tense bodies flinched and ground together, Pool’s hefty cock sandwiched between them. His own prick was growing uncomfortable where it was digging into the dirt. Then Deadpool was bracing them again, and in quick succession, BANG! BANG! BANG! 

The noise was even more jarring, despite the muffs, and Peter struggled not to be overwhelmed by the physical and auditory stimulation (he wasn’t even paying attention to where they were shooting). A part of him just wanted to collapse into the dirt and submit, to absorb the noise and the weight and the cock, and to forget about everything else. However, a larger part of him insisted stubbornly that if Pool could concentrate while rutting between his cheeks, then so could he. Gritting his teeth in determination, Peter shook off Pool’s arms, sighted a target through the scope, then pulled the trigger. BANG!

The concrete chunks shattered, rocky pieces flying out in every direction, and Peter was surprised at the thrill that ran through him. Pool nuzzled the back of his neck, then lifted one ear cover to murmur, “Mmm. . . good shot.”

Then he rolled off Peter, swatting his ass before he stood. Peter looked at him balefully, but he just smirked. “Hit a few more targets and we can move on to something else.”

It was easier to concentrate without Pool on top of him, so he opened up a little and shot off a couple dozen more rounds. For possibly the first time in his life, Peter experienced the appeal of senseless destruction, and he felt that just maybe it would bring him a better understanding of his frequently destructive lover. Pool was crouched nearby, digging through the open duffle bag. When his movements stopped, Peter pulled off his ear protection and sat up. “Okay, so that was kinda fun. Especially the part where I pretended you were fucking me in the middle of a warzone.”

Deadpool laughed. “I’ve totally had that fantasy before! You’re all, like, we’re gonna die! And I’m all, like, I’m not gonna die without fucking you one more time! So you let me have you, right out in the open. Though I guess in this version, you feel guilty about not protecting the others, so you keep manning the gun. It’s even better, really.”

Peter grinned at his ridiculous enthusiasm. “You know me too well.”

Deadpool picked up the two handguns he’d retrieved from his bag, then stood. “You wanna try one of these babies?”

“Sure.” Peter stood up too, brushing the dirt from his chest and pants.

Deadpool gave the Beretta to Peter with a knowing smirk, keeping the Desert Eagle for himself, then showed him how to load them. Finally Peter held the gun up and tried to aim at the person-shaped metal target. 

“No no no, that’s not right at all!” Pool criticized cheekily, immediately placing his own weapon in the back of his waistband. “Let me show you!”

Of course, it was just a ploy to wrap his arms around Peter again, nuzzling into his neck and nestling his hard on into Peter’s lower back as he pretended that the small shifts in stance were crucial. Though he could at least back up his claims with scientifically sensical explanations.

“That’s much better,” Pool finally complemented, even as calloused fingers dragged down Peter’s abs to palm him over his jeans. “Just don’t forget your protection. My ear drums heal faster than yours.”

The muffs were on the ground, which of course required Peter to bend over, straight legged as Pool held onto his hips and ground his erection into Peter’s ass. Feeling silly but definitely turned on, Peter made sure to hold the position for a long moment, wiggling back on that eager cock. Pool moaned quietly, “Fuck, Peter. I really do adore you.”

Peter straightened with a smirk, putting his ear protection on. Pool let go of him with obvious reluctance, and then watched him try to hit his target. The first rounds went wide, but after a little practice and a few pointers, Peter was consistently making body shots. 

“You’re a natural, Spidey!” Pool exclaimed excitedly, clapping loudly and bouncing on his toes. 

“You know how it is,” Peter demurred. “Since the transformation, these kinds of physical coordination tasks do come easy. But there’s nothing natural about it.”

Wade shrugged, pulling out his Desert Eagle and aiming it towards one of the house-like structures. “Semantics, pretty boy. People like us have to accept the new natural, or else everything we are or achieve becomes the product of our transformation. And I won’t give my torturers, or a radioactive spider, quite that much credit.”

Peter stared at Wade for a few seconds, dumbfounded by his unexpectedly deep perspective on the matter. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been. Wade was intelligent in his own way, and had first hand experience with body transformation. 

Wade shot off a series of rounds, and Peter turned to look at the target. Sure enough, there was a big smiley face punched out of the plywood. “I have, however, been able to do that since well before I turned into Freddy Krueger.”

Losing interest in the guns, Peter took of his muffs and turned to his lover. “I assume that by comparing yourself to Freddy, you're referring to his apparent immortality and ability to molest me even in when I’m asleep.”

Wade glanced at Peter, looking a little surprised at his words, before turning back to the duffle bag – though Peter could still make out the grin on his lips. Peter mentally congratulated himselffor doing his part in bringing an end to Wade’s negative self-talk and, someday (hopefully), his negative self-image. “Hey, are you hungry yet? The guns’ve been fun, but, uh, there’s a giant man-eating plant in my stomach singing, feed me!”

Pool grinned at that reference, having just forced Peter to sit through The Little Shop of Horrors last week. A natural match for the plant’s randy baritone, he sung, “♪♬ Feed me, Seymore! Feed me all night long! ♪♬ . . . But, yeah, I could definitely eat. Shooting shit really works up a killer appetite.”

“Har har. Puns, the lowest form of wit.”

“I don’t respect your opinion on the matter,” Pool sparred. “I’m funnier than you are.”

More ridiculous maybe. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Bazinga!”

Deadpool was able to get a fire started with all the ease of someone accustomed to roughing it. Then they proceeded to roast and eat a dozen hot dogs as the sky slowly darkened around them. Pool didn’t bother to pull up his ski mask, and by the time he polished off his seventh dog, the material was decorated with bread crumbs and a streak of ketchup, in addition to the thin layer of dust. While it had been kinda fun to watch the phallic shapes disappear through the mouth hole, Peter was less impressed after the fact. “Okay, so. . . you can blow me with that dirty mask on, if you really want. But, just to put it out there, you need to take that thing off if you want to get anywhere near my mouth.”

Deadpool frowned melodramatically, and asked with profound skepticism, “Oh? Did you want to fuck tonight? But we’re. . . outside. A, like, satellite or drone or something might pass over and take pictures.”

Peter threw the last half of his hot dog plus bun over the fire and straight at his boyfriend, who just laughed as it bounced off his forehead and left another mark. “Shut it. You better be up for it, after we spent all afternoon engaged in what amounts to foreplay.”

“Well okay then.” Deadpool promptly pulled off the ski mask, revealing his laughing face. “Who am I to leave the mighty Spiderman unsatisfied? Whatcha wanna do? Whitey has a bunch of kinky fantasies that fit the bill.”

“Do tell.” Peter had his own ideas, one in particular that he’d come prepared for, but he definitely wanted to hear Whitey’s titillating suggestions. 

“Well. I brought night vision goggles and a paint gun, thought you might like to hunt each other through the night forest. The better predator takes down his prey and claims his victory.”

“Hmmm. . . tempting.” That did sound exciting, except, “Who gets the paint gun?” 

“Me, of course. You get to practice with a real gun and a real target, without doing any permanent damage.”

“Nooo,” Peter scolded with audible irritation, like he was talking to an idiot child. Seriously, how many times were they going to revisit this issue?

“Kidding, kidding,” Pool assured, smirking snottily. “You’re so predictable. I brought two paint guns. . . or you could use the webslingers instead.”

Peter narrowed his eyes dramatically at his boyfriend. “I do like the idea of you tied up and helpless, so I can punish you for being such a jerk all the time. Of course, out here there is no one to hear you scream when you finally cum harder than you ever have before.”

“Anything you want, Spidey,” Pool agreed seductively, leaning back so he could deliberately adjust his (still?) hard cock.

They gazed hungrily at each other for a beat, still digesting and only almost ready to jump each other’s bones. So Peter tried to keep up the banter by challenging, “Got any other fantasies?”

Pool smiled evilly. “Take your pick, Spidey. . . Sergeant Deadpool could subject Private Parker to the perks of the army hierarchy. Or we could be enemy combatants, with one of us capturing the other and bringing him back to base. Then in round two, one of us can rescue the POW, and fuck life back into the broken man. . . and those are just a couple of the military-themed ones. Back on the hunting track, I could be some kind of psycho, hunting down my runaway victim. Or you could hunt down the dangerous escaped convict and teach him a lesson. . . Shall I keep going?” 

Peter studied Wade for a moment, the former merc’s grin fading as Peter’s suddenly pensive mood became apparent. Peter didn’t want to bring Wade down, but hearing all those scenarios lined up like a menu triggered his brain to make connections that he might not have otherwise made. Was Wade really into power games, or was that just him catering to what he thought Peter wanted? (Cuz after a couple sessions with Mr. White, Peter could now admit that he definitely got off on those.) What happened to the fantasy in which they desperately coupled one last time before they died, with or without the high caliber rifle? Or the one from yesterday at the camping store, when Wade had suggested cuddling together under a sleeping bag to avoid hypothermia? And what about the original proposition from days ago, to make love under the stars? Now that he was thinking about it, Peter was pretty sure he’d never heard Wade refer to their sexual activities that way before, and it made him feel like he was missing something significant.

“What’s wrong?” Wade asked, and Peter had gotten good at recognizing the nervous tone. “Is one of those not good? Cuz we don’t have to stick to any of those scripts, and we’ve got lots of options out here. Whatever you want, baby boy, you know I’m game. We’re gonna have fun tonight!”

Peter hurried to interrupt before Wade’s offers could devolve into manic self-defeat. “Which one do you like best?”

Wade frowned heavily, as if considering the question for the first time, as if it was meant to trick him. Finally he gave a hopeless shrug and offered a sloppy smile with his earnest answer, “They all sound fun to me. I’m just happy you’re willing to play with me.” 

Of course getting a real answer was going to be more difficult than it should be, it always was with Deadpool, but that never stopped Peter. He tried to approach the issue from a different direction, “What would making love under the stars entail?”

Wade stiffened slightly at the question and looked down at the fire, indicating that Peter was on to something, even if he was not sure what. His lover was silent for so long that Peter wasn’t sure he was going to answer the question, though he was clearly pondering something. A little worried by these signs, Peter got up and moved to sit right next to him, and grabbed Wade’s hand as he settled cross-legged. “It’s not a trick question, Wade.”

Wade looked out into the fading light of their surroundings before answering. “It sorta is. That was Yellow’s pie in the sky, but as we’ve established, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about in this arena. He just wants lots of sappy feels, which he usually gets anyway. After the super hot, mind-blowing action.”

O-kaay. Peter felt like he was fishing for some truth that his boyfriend was either unaware of or intentionally obscuring. It was a little frustrating, but not an uncommon occurrence, so Peter threw out another line, convinced now that he was getting closer. “You know, just cuz we’re out on a romantic getaway doesn’t mean we have to engage in some elaborate scene, or be extra kinky. We have great sex just being us. Frequently, I might add.”

His lover glanced at him briefly before dropping his eyes to their joined hands. His next admission revealed that he finally understood what Peter was getting at. “During Karaoke Night, Widow asked what would happen when you were done exploring your sexuality with me. I know it’s not that simple, but I still want to hold that day off as long as possible.” 

Damn her, Peter thought, though she was not the first (nor would she be the last) outsider to project motives onto their seemingly inexplicable connection. She had asked similar questions of Peter that night, like what he would do when ADHD-Deadpool inevitably got bored of playing house. 

Peter turned to face Wade, bringing his free hand up to cup a chiseled jaw. “I doubt I’ll ever be done exploring with you, love. Not because you’re the most creative sexual partner I’ve ever had, though you definitely are, but because I expect our connection to keep evolving. And with that, I’m sure our love making will change too. . . We have all the time in the world for every kinky fantasy in both our spank banks, and for lots of vanilla sex too.”

Wade smiled shyly at him and leaned forward for a chaste kiss. “Thanks for spelling that out for me . . . I know that I should know that, even if I didn’t. If that makes sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Peter reassured, brushing their noses together and allowing his eyes to close for a moment as he savored the intimacy. Then he stood, pulling Wade up with him. “Come on. Let’s save the paintball guns for the morning. Right now we need to figure out how to make love under the stars. It can’t be harder than some of the other stuff we’ve done.”

“I dunno. I’m pretty hard right now.”

Peter didn’t deign that bad pun with an answer, just climbed up into the truck bed. Wade followed right behind, banging his ankle on the tailgate as he moved without his usual grace. Peter was already pulling off his windbreaker, but had to smirk a little as the bigger man arranged himself clumsily next to him. “Nervous?”

Wade just grinned and shrugged, looking both eager and uncomfortable. Peter stripped off his shirt and tried to assure, “You know you’re being silly, right? This is just like all the other times, except less dirty talk and more sweet nothings.”

Wade focused closely on removing his combat boots. “So all I have to do is not call you a greedy cockslut? Somehow I don’t think it’s quite that simple.” 

Peter rolled his eyes good naturedly, laying back on the mattress to shimmy out of his jeans and briefs. “Just use soft touches, instead of rough. The rest is basically the same. It’s not rocket science.”

Wade pulled off his half-laced boots with some effort, still mostly dressed when he looked up at his naked lover. His eyes drunk in the exposed skin even as he reluctantly admitted, “I’m naturally a kinda rough and tumble guy. As you may have noticed living with me, I tend to break things that require a gentle touch.”

Peter shuffled closer, grabbing Wade’s fingers and lightly pulling him to his knees so that they faced each other directly. He softly guided those large, calloused hands to his bare waist. “You’re not gonna break me, love, especially not by accident. Besides, remember the whole spiel about the new natural? Just cuz people have been rough with you doesn’t mean you can’t learn to be gentle.”

Wade licked his lips and slowly skimmed his fingertips down to Peter’s thighs, then back up until he reached his ribs, watching closely as if he didn’t trust his own actions. What Peter hadn’t said was that he already knew Wade could be gentle, even if he didn’t have the confidence to realize it. Wade had proven himself their first time together, when he had touched Peter so perfectly and brought him off, all while wearing his tough leather gloves. That feat had only been possible because of Wade’s dexterity and sensitivity – the only physical requirements to being gentle. Wade had touched him gently plenty of times, they’d “made love” plenty of times, even if the former merc hadn’t realized it.

If anything, perhaps it was Peter who had failed Wade by diving so quickly into the deep end of the kink pool. Wade had always seemed so comfortable there, it never occurred to the younger man that maybe he was missing most of those tender, fumbling experiences that should’ve come first. God, they’d done everything ass-backwards, hadn’t they? Blow jobs before kissing, barebacking before unmasking, dildos and ball gags before making love.

The hair on Peter’s arms and legs was already rising up, goose bumps appearing on his skin at Wade’s light touches. Unfortunately, the older man still seemed mostly frozen, hands just tracing up and down, and uncharacteristically silent, a sure sign of inner activity. Peter prompted, “Now touch my chest, just like you’re doing now.”

Wade’s fingertips drifted over to his pecs, ghosting over the hard muscle in shrinking circles around his nipples. Finally, his thumbs passed faintly over the little nubs, causing them to pebble up, and Peter to sigh at the feathery sensation. Wade’s eyes darted up to his at the sound, before he asked in apparent disbelief, “You liked that? It’s enough?”

“It is if you keep going,” Peter murmured, strategically placing his arms around Wade’s shoulders so they could both watch those blunt thumbs stroke his nipples. Was that the problem? Had whoever used to leave him hanging taught him to give and take as much as he could, when he could? “Are you going to keep going?”

Wade made eye contact again, clearly aware of being led somewhere, but he still offered a quiet pledge, “As long as you let me.”

“That’s gonna be an awfully long time,” Peter promised, and cuz he thought they were off to a pretty good start, so he urged Wade closer to join their mouths. Peter didn’t hesitate to taste those familiar lips, more to request entrance than demand. When Wade immediately opened to him, his tongue barely went farther, just running along the smooth and soft flesh inside. Knowing that Wade’s other hole was also soft and smooth inside, Peter couldn’t help wondering how similar it would be to lick into that fragile, bewitching cavity. The thought made his cock throb and when he felt Wade’s tongue on his own lips, he sucked it gently in and caressed it with his own slippery muscle. When Peter released the submissive tongue, it was only to move on to the lower lip, sucking it weakly before holding it delicately between his teeth. Gradually, Peter coaxed Wade to participate more actively, and their tongues slid wetly against each other, painting their lips with spit until they were chapped and slightly swollen. 

When Peter finally pulled back, Wade’s eyes were hooded and he already looked debauched. “Wade?”

“Mmm?” came the dazed response.

“I’m cold,” Peter pouted, kinda getting into the whole sweet seduction angle. He would’ve felt silly saying any of these cheesy nothings to his previous girlfriends, but as was frequently the case, with Wade it was simply the new natural. Wade himself was a challenge, of course, but he made it easy for Peter to be whoever he wanted to be, and it felt good to feel confident in his personal life. It’s hard not to love someone who genuinely makes you feel better about yourself. Peter could only hope that he did the same for Wade.

Wade responded promptly by quickly stripping off his shirt, slowing only to carefully place his arms around Peter’s ribs and gently draw them together. 

“Is that better?” he rasped roughly in Peter’s ear, a calloused hand petting lightly down his spine, and the combination sent a wonderful shiver through Peter’s body.

“How could it not be?” Peter countered flirtatiously, lightly brushing their chests against each other. The uneven skin felt even hotter than perfect skin would’ve, like a dozen fingers tickling across his torso. Copying one of Wade’s favorite moves, Peter nuzzled into the space behind his boyfriend’s ear, planting feathery kisses on his neck and gently sucking on an ear lobe. Their hard cocks frequently brushed together, but Peter made sure not to linger. They’d get there in good time. 

After a few more minutes, Wade withdrew, seeming less distant and looking at Peter with concern as he rubbed down the shivering arms. Night had fallen and the temperature had plummeted, even if they’d been too preoccupied to really care. “If we’re not gonna be running through the woods, then maybe we should get under a sleeping bag?”

“Agreed.” Peter gave him a quick kiss then moved to unroll the sleeping bag, while Wade pulled off his camouflage pants. Then they arranged themselves to lie on their sides, facing each other with the sleeping bag covering them both. Peter couldn’t help snickering a little and giddily cuddling up to Wade to warm up, and his boyfriend obliged by massaging cautious circles into his shoulders and back. As much as he’d always been attracted to Wade’s coarse masculinity, Peter was surprised at how much he was enjoying “gentle Wade”. He couldn’t help wondering how present Yellow was for this experience, and hoping he got something out of it.

As he warmed up, Peter’s hands began their own light exploration, tracing across muscles and scars with equal attention until Wade too shivered. 

“Does that hurt?” he asked quietly, resting his fingers over a lumpy growth on Wade’s thigh, one that he’d watched appear over the last couple days. Peter knew that Wade’s skin always hurt to some degree, but knowing his boyfriend’s reluctance to discuss it, he’d didn’t generally ask for details. Even now the former merc tensed briefly, his hands stilling on Peter’s back, before making himself relax.

Wade brushed their cheeks together before answering, “Yeah. But not because you’re touching it. Or rather, it already hurts, but like a bug bite, it hurts good when you scratch it.”

So Peter carefully rubbed around the tender growth, and Wade’s breath caught and stuttered. After a dozen seconds, his fingers moved on to caress the permanently rough and cracked patch of skin on Wade’s hip. “What about here?”

Wade had to clear his throat to speak. “That doesn’t have much feeling unless you press into it, then it kinda burns. Getting scratched or hit there is a bitch.”

So Peter ghosted over that area and onto a ridge of scar tissue that ran up Wade’s ribs all the way to his breast. “And this?”

Wade shook his head. Peter looked at him then, his night vision good enough to make out the cherished features, even if the moon hadn’t been mostly full and hanging low. “It doesn’t hurt at all?”

“No,” Wade assured, seeming surprisingly comfortable with the situation, give his initial hesitance and his general discomfort with his skin. “The scarring dulls sensation, but it hasn’t hurt in a long time.”

So Peter leaned closer and drug his tongue up the ridge of rough skin until it ended, hearing Wade suck in and hold his breath until he came to the end of the line. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah,” came the husky reply, so Peter moved up to tongue the nearby nipple. He circled it several times, flicked it a little, and Wade’s breathing was definitely coming heavy now. He even whined a little when Peter moved on to mouth a scar along his collarbone, then rushed to qualify, “Peter, you really don’t have to do that.”

Peter used his hands to ease Wade to turn onto his back, climbing nimbly on top of him and adjusting the sleeping bag over them. “But Wade,” he teased, leaning back down to lick the other nipple, “I really really want to.”

Wade didn’t object again, but as Peter stroked and tongued his way down his torso, he thought he heard him whisper into the night air, perhaps to he stars, “I love you.”

It was quite warm under the sleeping bag, particularly by the time he got to Wade’s swollen and leaking cock. Even his good night vision couldn’t make out much in the musky dark, but Peter didn’t need to see anything to lick up the hot member, to tongue the velvety skin interspersed with scarring and pock marks. He knew the cock well enough to identify a new bump near the base, and Wade shuddered and tensed when he gently covered it with his thumb. 

“Does this one hurt?” Peter asked with only partially faked concern.

“Fuuuh –” Wade cut off his obscenity, muffled as it was through the sleeping bag, and then inhaled deeply to answer more coherently, “Only in the best way.”

So Peter pressed it lightly, and then rubbed around it, and then sucked that entire side of the lengthy cock like a giant bit in his mouth. He held Wade’s now writhing hips firmly but gently, helping him restrain the primal need to thrust. Finally, Peter shifted to take in the salty cockhead and Wade moaned loudly and wantonly, thick fingers magically appearing to card lightly through his lover’s hair. Peter smiled a little around the large appendage, but then he got down to business, lowering his head slowly until it reached the back of his throat, then he breathed deeply through his nose and eased it even further. He’d been working on this for months now, gradually mastering his gag reflex until now, with care, he could almost deep throat the entire generous length. He swallowed once, then twice, trying to take as much as he could, and while it was more than ever before, he was still an inch short. 

When the need to breathe became too demanding, Peter slowly pulled up, inhaled through his nose, and then repeated his actions, this time wrapping his fist around the base. With a little less to conquer, he was able to take his lover faster, humming to both their pleasure and establishing a good rhythm that finally spilled sweet nothings from Wade’s lips. 

“Your mouth is heaven, you’ve gotten really good at that. . . You’re perfect, I swear. And so good to me, baby boy. . . I love you so so much. . . Peter, please! Don’t stop!” 

The last one reminded Peter of the plans he’d made for tonight, and with it came a little stab of guilt. For all his assurances to Wade that they didn’t need to underscore every special occasion with particularly kinky sex, he had brought a cock ring on their romantic getaway with every intention of breaking Wade open to find out who in his past had scarred him by withholding sex. Now though, he thought that maybe it didn’t matter much. Peter didn’t really need to know, as long as Wade understood that he wouldn’t be stopping, ever. 

Peter eased off, his fist taking over the patient pace so that he could move up Wade’s body and look him in the eye as he assured them both in a raw voice, “I’m not gonna stop. Not ever. You better still want me when I’m old and wrinkly, cuz I’ll still want you.”

One of Wade’s hands found its way back to Peter’s head, holding him firmly but gently, while his other hand palmed Peter’s prick. “I’d love nothing more than to grow old and uglier with you. . . I just can’t believe you’re still hard after all that.”

“Oh, Wade.” Then, cuz his boyfriend’s mannerisms really were rubbing off on him, the cadence of Peter’s voice changed, not quite singing, but enough to indicate that the words came from a twanging country song. “‘There ain’t nothing about you that don’t do something for me.’”

“Damn, Peter, I really do adore you,” Wade gushed, then he pulled Peter in for a sloppy kiss, slow but deep and possessing. After a couple long minutes, Wade eased him back to ask earnestly, “Can I ride you?”

Peter smiled at him and brushed their noses together affectionately. “That sounds perfect.”

They traded positions with the usual awkwardness, and Peter lubed his prick up as Wade rearranged the sleeping bag to tent off his back and at least cover Peter’s legs. Peter reached between those splayed thighs to touch Wade’s hole. His rim clenched tightly closed, as always, but then opened eagerly for him and Peter easily slipped two fingers in. Wade waited just long enough for Peter to massage the lube into his channel, then covered Peter’s slick hand with his own and slid those fingers out. “That’s enough, I’m so ready for your co – uhhh, manhood? Yeah, that’s it. . . I’m, um, aching for your throbbing manhood.”

Peter had to giggle a little at Wade’s attempt at cleaning up his dirty talk, but he also trusted that he was ready. With all the frequent sex, neither of them were very tight anymore, though Peter still greatly enjoyed putting fingers and toys into Wade’s hole, while Peter would probably always require a degree of stretching to accommodate Wade’s substantial girth. They worked together to position themselves correctly, and then Wade lowered himself slowly but completely onto Peter’s prick, not stopping until he was fully seated on Peter’s hips. Wade sighed happily, and closed his eyes for a moment, not even moving as he savored the experience. “That feels amazing.”

Peter couldn’t easily reach his face, so gently dragged both hands down Wade’s shapely pecs and washboard abs, to finally rest on those strong thighs. “You’re amazing, love.”

Wade beamed beatifically, eyes still closed, and Peter thought, not for the first time, how stunning he was when he was content and at peace. In the moonlight, the scars were barely even visible, but there was something he could see that were completely invisible from New York City. “Hey, open your eyes, I want you to see something.”

Wade obeyed immediately, meeting his gaze before Peter pointed up to the night sky. “Look. We’re making love under the stars.”

Wade tilted his head up for a long moment before looking back at Peter with a small, wondering smile. It seemed that the world must be ending because the merc with a mouth was actually speechless. 

Gradually Wade used his strong legs to lift up, slowly dragging Peter’s dick through his rim, before easing back down and pulling a satisfied groan from both of them. Peter placed a steadying hand on Wade’s hip, while his other hand wrapped around Wade’s cock, languidly fisting the swollen member in time to their coupling. Peter felt hypnotized by the built body riding him so perfectly, and Wade must’ve felt the same cuz he watched Peter too through hooded eyes. Those powerful thighs kept the pace up for a long time, well past what most people could’ve managed, until they were both sweating and shaking from arousal. 

“Oh, God, Wade. You’re killing me,” Peter finally gasped, when he could take the divine torture no more. “Can I take over?”

“Sure thing, lover.” Wade smirked and dismounted, letting Peter arrange him on his back, with Peter between his legs, and each knee hooked over one of Peter’s elbows. Peter could then use his own superior strength to hold his thighs open wide, and high enough that Wade’s ass lifted well off the mattress to just the right position, his upper back taking the rest of his weight. 

Except that, while Peter was managing this, Wade was twisting acrobatically to retrieve something from his pant pocket, small enough to hide snuggly in his fist. “What’s that?” 

Wade smirked faintly in the dark, and asked a question to which, at one time, he’d never have expected an affirmative answer. “Do you trust me?”

Peter grinned at the display of confidence, at the playfulness, at the affection that was bursting out of his chest. “You know I do.”

“Then just make love to me, and you’ll see soon enough.” 

Peter didn’t need to be told twice, and thrust into Wade’s waiting channel, all the way to the hilt, eliciting satisfied sounds from both of them. The position was absolute magic, giving Peter enough leverage to push in harder and faster, more passionate than rough really, while Wade’s suspended ass added a boneless bounce to every thrust. Wade kept his eyes focused on Peter initially, but soon his head lulled back to take in the gorgeous tapestry of stars, and Peter had to again resist the urge to tell him how beautiful he was. He knew such comments were rarely received as intended. 

They’d both been aroused for so long now, on and off for hours, that it only took a handful of minutes of deep penetration before they were both arching into it and nearing climax. Wade grabbed his cock with his free hand and started jacking himself vigorously, which Peter took as his queue to speed up. He felt so incredibly in sync with his lover that he found himself striving for nearly mythical goal of a simultaneous orgasm. 

“Wade!” Thrust. “I’m so close!” Thrust. “Cum with me!” Thrust. “Please!”

“Fuck, yes!” Thrust. “Now, NOW!”

And then they were both shooting off, Wade’s hole clenching tight around Peter’s cock and hot release exploding from both of them. When the sound of literal explosions filled Peter’s ears, for a second he didn’t even notice, and then for another long second he assumed it was the force of his climax causing auditory hallucination. But then he couldn’t deny the giant plumes of fire erupting around him like bombs dropping or fireworks exploding – B-BLAST!!! Three, B-BLAST!!! Four, B-BLAST!!! Five, B-BLAST!!! Six times, from six sites in a wide, even radius around the truck.

Peter’s own orgasm lasted almost as long, prolonged perhaps by the sensory overload, and when he collapsed on top of Wade, he could barely tell if he was passing out or taking cover. He closed his eyes and held on tight as the smell of smoke filled his nostrils and confident arms surrounded and grounded him. Nothing bad could be happening while Wade embraced and protected him like this. After several deep breaths, he glanced around, hazy smoke obscuring the stars and trees.

“What on Earth was that?” he asked loudly, ears still ringing from the detonations. 

“Dynamite,” Deadpool answered cheekily, as though that should’ve been obvious. He must’ve set up the explosives while Peter had napped.

You’re completely crazy, Peter thought without judgment, laying his head back down on Wade’s steady chest, but what he said was, “I love you.”

“Ditto,” came the lazy reply, blunt fingers threading delicately through Peter’s hair.

“That was perfect. Even if you tried to blow us up in the end.”

“If I’d wanted to blow us up, I wouldn’t’ve had to try,” Deadpool reassured. “What great orgasm can’t be made better with pyrotechnics?” 

“Tomorrow I’m gonna hunt you down with that paintball gun then pummel your ass into the ground,” Peter promised sleepily, planting a kiss on Wade’s breast. That sounded like sweet revenge for ending their lovemaking under the stars with literal explosions.

“Not if I get you first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE REVIEW on your way out! If you like what you read, check out Part 3, though it is much darker than the previous installments.  
> 


End file.
